Priestess, Sister, Lover, Witch
by AvalonCelticQueen
Summary: Morgause's story; her journey from mysterious challenger of Prince Arthur, to the closest ally of the Lady Morgana and ultimate enemy of Camelot. Birth to death of the the one of the last High Priestesses. Begins pre-series but does progress. Rated for later violence and sexual content. Morgause/Cenred. Morgause/Morgana.
1. Chapter 1

**Priestess, Sister, Lover Witch**

**Chapter 1**

Blood dripped from the bed sheets, crimson already from the past hours of agony, onto the cracked stone floor. The hot stench of the blood mingled with sweat hung, sickeningly, in the small room. But it was all over now. The woman lay back, exhausted, onto the pillow behind her, pushing her dark hair off her sweating forehead with a shaking arm, as she did so. As she slid into a fatigued sleep, the effort of her work stared at her from the bloody sheets, the dim candlelight illuminating large dark eyes, the only thing visible.

* * *

><p>Gaius was stood next to her when she awoke the following morning, sunlight bursting through the open window, half blinding her as she opened her eyes wearily. When she did, she noticed the bundle in Gaius' arms.<p>

'You did well, Lady Vivian.' He smiled warmly. 'A fairly easy birth, I think.'

'Easy?' Lady Vivian asked groggily, her head spinning and vision blurred. 'Any water available, Gaius?'

'Of course.' He shook his head confusingly, looking around, before down at the bundle. Gently, he asked, 'Would you like to hold her while I fetch it?'

'Her?' Vivian's eyes widened as she sat up, taking the bundle from Gaius' arms. She looked down at the baby, her baby, lying in the sheets. Large, chestnut eyes, the perfect rosebud mouth. She couldn't prevent a sudden wave of love hitting her as she admired her daughter. 'She's beautiful.'

Gaius turned around from his counter when he heard this, a look of pride in his eyes for the baby he himself delivered, the first in almost ten years. 'You must name her, Vivian.'

He could see her forehead crinkle in thought, her mouth slightly open in concentration before she whispered, gently, as if only to the baby in her arms. 'Morgause.'

'Morgause?' Gaius asked suddenly as he handed Vivian her water, taking the baby from her carefully.

'Yes.'

'That's a Druid name, surely? Dangerous at a time like this?'

They both stopped silent at Gaius' mention of Uther's ways. The Great Purge, the hunting and murder of any possessing magic, the Druids the first to be targeted.

Vivian felt herself stammer slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. 'You must understand, Gaius, why I'm here. I admire you, I do, but I would never come this far to have this baby if there wasn't...'

'Another reason?' Gaius' eyebrows raised inquisitively.

'She's not Gorlois' child,' Vivian admitted, feeling a tear begin to slip down her cheek as she looked up at Morgause nestled in Gaius' arms. 'You don't know how lonely it is, to be newly married and all he can do is fight Uther's wars for him!' She was almost sobbing now. 'And he was kind, he spoke to me softly, gently, he understood me. And he was so handsome, golden hair, so different to Gorlois...'

'Who?'

'Morgause's father.' Vivian bit her lip in an attempt to control herself. 'He was a Druid, Gaius! He possessed magic, I know. So when I found out I was pregnant, I had to come to you, I couldn't risk it at home, because...' She looked up again, straight into Gaius' face. 'Morgause will possess magic, I'm sure of it, and I can't risk Uther finding her. Which is why I came at the dead of night, alone. He can't find her, Gaius!'

'What are you saying, Vivian?' Gaius asked, his heart pounding at the almost treasonous talk. She held her arms out and he placed Morgause in them, as if desperate to rid himself any involvement with the baby.

'You must give her to the High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, that was what the Druid said to me. They will care for her, keep her away from the Great Purge, keep her away from Uther,' Vivian instructed slowly, almost silently. 'Please, Gaius, please.'

'Vivian, what you're asking from me...' Gaius shook his head, his white hair almost stuck to his neck in a petrified sweat. 'This is treason. I would be betraying my King, as would you...'

'But you too know the punishment she would face, you know maybe more than anyone,' Vivian pleaded, before glancing into Morgause's eyes, her trusting eyes. 'Uther would not spare her, just because she's so young. He is a great man, but I can't let him hurt her, Gaius.' Vivian looked deeply at him before shrugging. 'Besides, how much damage can she do? She will never be important surely, she will be safe.'

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><p>It was dark but cloudless, a full moon hung over Camelot's walls like a giant eye, watching over everything in the city. Yet it did not see the lone hooded figure sneaking out the back gate of the citadel, a bundle in his arms, and head towards the woods outside the castle, shadowed by the tall, dark trees.<p>

'You came, Gaius.'

He shook off his brown hood to get a better look at the woman before him.  
>Tall, slim, a silver cloak wrapped delicately around her. She was old, her face lined with her life, but attractive still. Snowy hair, twisted into a bun, sat atop her head while a single ruby jewel sat centre of her forehead, the glimmering silver chain twisted round her hair like a snake. Gaius knew he had found the right woman.<p>

'I had to, my Lady, I have little choice...'

'You needn't, Gaius, I know why you are here.' The woman smiled warmly, melting Gaius' defences slightly. 'I am the High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, there is little you can hide from me.' Gaius himself gave a small chuckle at this, he had forgotten what being around others of the Old Religion felt like. The Priestess held out her arms. 'May I see her?'

Gaius passed Morgause over carefully and watched the Priestess give a warm smile as she held her closely. 'She is a beautiful baby, she will grow to be a beautiful woman one day.'

Gaius nodded solemnly. 'All that matters is that she will be safe, for Lady Vivian.'

'It will be you that can keep her that way, Gaius. Only you can keep her truly safe,' she said slowly, yet a threatening gleam seemed to illuminate her pale eyes. 'You must swear an oath to never reveal this to anyone. Breaking this will put us all in danger: you, me, even Morgause will not be spared from Uther's wrath should this be discovered.' She saw Gaius' hesitant face. 'Swear to this, Gaius, it is the only way.'

Gaius felt himself take a deep breath, he looked around the deserted clearing, the breeze cold against his shaking hands. 'I swear,' Gaius promised quietly. 'But you must promise she will be safe, that you will protect her.'

'She will be the safest she can be in this Kingdom,' The Priestess reassured. 'And we will protect her, you need not worry. But thank you, Gaius, you do not need to let this matter trifle you any further. Please.' She held out a hand, a bracelet in its grasp. 'Give this to the Lady Vivian.'

Gaius took it, examining the intricate workmanship in the limited light. 'What is it?'

'Just a gift, something to help with the pain.'

She turned, still nursing the baby in her arms, the sleeves of her silver cloak providing warmth in the cold night air. Moonlight illuminated her departing figure, her shadow long on the forest floor, when Gaius cried, 'Wait! You must promise me I will not regret this. She has no great destiny, surely?'

In the pale light, Gaius saw her turn slightly, the shadow of a smile passing across her lips. 'One day, Morgause will bring the mighty Uther to his knees. I hope we both live to see that day.'

And with fear gripping his heart and an icy shiver down his spine, Gaius watched her disappear into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The isle was peaceful, tranquil, an idyllic place to be for all the of the Old Religion. Or at least that was how it was known. In fact, the Isle of the Blessed, the safe haven for the High Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, had been rather disturbed of late due to the presence of a young girl with blazing hair and fiery character.  
>Morgause, the High Priestesses all reflected, was more than any of them had bargained for. Strong, both physically and in mind, and more magically gifted than they had dared hope. But a nightmare none the less. She possessed far too much energy for a nine year old child, leaving destruction in her wake, and inquisitive, having put most of the women there in an awkward position before with one of her carriwitchets. Yet everyone marvelled her; large, chestnut eyes with golden hair, she was the life of the isle.<p>

* * *

><p>But this was unknown to the two women making the boat trip across the still waters to the isle. Exact opposites, the women sat facing each other, silence passing between them as each sat, lost in their own thoughts.<p>

Lady Vivian sat motionless in the rocking boat, a hand resting on her stomach, curved with pregnancy, a golden bracelet sat gracefully on her wrist. Although her face was emotionless, her heart pounded like a military drum in her chest. The Isle of the Blessed. Without knowing exactly what she was to expect there, she knew it was the home of the High Priestesses of the Old Religion, the people she had trusted her baby to all those years ago. Nine years ago, to be more precise. She shook her head, her dark hair sweeping like a midnight curtain as she did; she had promised she would never think of Morgause again. Even if her heart yearned to hold her once more...

The other woman was rowing the boat, despite only being of a frail looking physique. A slight face, verging on skeletal in the wrong light, and pale blonde, nearly silver, hair. She was struggling with the oars, her weak arms not fit enough to row the boat successfully, but she would not ask for help. Especially from her, she thought enviously, as she eyed Vivian's stomach with jealous eyes.

'Is this right?' Vivian broke the silence, and the other woman looked up into her face. 'I'm worried, Ygraine.'

Ygraine, the young wife of Uther Pendragon and Queen of Camelot, smiled reassuringly. 'You need not worry, Vivian, I make this trip frequently.'

Vivian bit her lip nervously still. 'But magic is not permitted, you of all should know that. How would Uther react if he knew his own wife consulted the Old Religion to produce a son? A child of magic? He would be furious.'

'You act as if you know him better than I, Vivian,' Ygraine said calmly, a hint of menace hidden beneath the soft tones of her voice. 'You forget I am his wife.' But she sighed, the menace falling from her eyes and she looked up, fatigued. She dropped the oars and the boat stopped in the still water. 'And you forget how desperate he is for a son. I honestly believe it is all he cares about, he certainly cares nothing for me. And I feel so guilty; whenever I see him, so young and virile, he could no doubt father a child with someone else. But he's relying on me, the whole of Camelot is relying on me. But how could you understand? You're blessed.'

Ygraine smiled slightly as she glanced at Vivian's bump. Vivian felt a stab of guilt in her heart as she looked at Ygraine, so desperate for a child, and she'd given away her first daughter, yet still been given another child. She took Ygraine's pale, and so cold, hands in her own and tried to look comfortingly into her young face.

'Do not be so ridiculous, Uther loves you, and he'll love you the same whether you have a son or not. Your time will come, I promise you.' Vivian nodded eagerly, almost manically in her attempt to appease Ygraine. 'And I'm sure you don't need the Old Religion.'

Ygraine shook her head, her hair glistening in the April morning sun. 'You think he does not consult the Old Religion himself? Of course he talks a lot about the danger of magic, how it corrupts, but he is desperate for this child. It would not surprise me if he traded in my own life for this unborn son.' Shaking her head, she took up the oars once more and began rowing. 'Besides, I do not ask for a child born of the Old Religion. I merely visit the isle out of goodwill and the High Priestesses choose to pray for my fertility. No magic is involved.'

* * *

><p>Having completed their journey in silence, the two women stood at the large wooden door to the isle's temple. Far grander than even Camelot, the temple resembled the citadel, except large, stained glass windows illuminated the cold stonework with emerald and ruby. The door even was more beautiful, with a border of wood carvings representing every aspect of the Old Religion. But the isle was more than beautiful, it was peaceful. Vivian could feel her own heartbeat slowing as she stood there, as though a wave of tranquility had washed over her very being. Ygraine had lost the dark circles under her eyes, and she smiled gently at Vivian, the resent flown from her heart. But there was no time for reunion as, before Ygraine had even lifted her hand for the silver knocker, the wooden door flew open. A young, red haired maiden stood in the doorway, her head bowed.<p>

'The High Priestess Taegan is awaiting you, Lady Ygraine.' She beckoned the two women to enter yet she stopped Vivian before she touched the stone floor. She looked up, her eyes a piercing golden as she glanced down at Vivian's swollen stomach. A dark smile haunted her thin lips. 'And Lady Vivian, I hope you find all you seek here.'

Vivian felt her eyes widen, her pulse suddenly race, but the girl stepped aside and Ygraine pulled Vivian inside, her grip tight despite her fragility.

Vivian saw nothing of the interior of the building, Ygraine led her quickly past intricate stone archways and down bright corridors, sunlight blazing through empty windowpanes. She caught glances of vaults full of dusty manuscripts and ancient books. Quick glances of girls at desks with piles of pages beside them, pouring over every little detail, most no older than five and twenty. Yet she was hurried away still. She caught a glimpse of an ornate stone font in one room, women staring deep into its depths while one spoke deep and clear in the Old Tongue. Vivian's head seemed to thick with mystery and incense, the smoke of which clouded every room, like dragon's breath swirling over the stone floors.

But they stopped suddenly outside a heavy wooden door. From the ornate carvings and archway surrounding, Vivian could only guess they were about to enter the Great Hall. Her assumption was only confirmed when Ygraine began rearranging her rose dress, pulling the creases of material to fit over her bony hips. Breathing deeply, she then let a smile spread across her pale face and pushed the doors open and entered. Vivian crept behind her, timidly, taking everything in with wide eyes.

Camelot was no match for the beauty of the Hall. Even her own kingdom of Titadel was no comparison. The Hall was light, airy, unlike the dark, cold chambers of usual citadels. No throne stood in the centre, instead there was a small, stone altar with a collection of large crystals resting on its surface. From the ceiling, banners draped, in ruby and emerald. Stained glass windows filled the room with a sunset glow. Just stepping into the Hall made Vivian's heart soar.

'My Lady Ygraine.'

A voice made Vivian turn around, only to see a woman stepping out of the shadowed corner of the Hall. She was old but held still herself regally, long snowy hair falling to her waist. She wore a gown of royal blue that only seemed to add to the illumination of the Hall.

'Taegan.' Ygraine rushed towards her, clasping the High Priestess' hands, wrinkled with life.

'It has been far too long, Ygraine.' Taegan smiled, her sapphire eyes crinkling warmly. 'We were all missing you. Her especially.'

'It is just too difficult in these times,' Ygraine explained sadly. 'You know that if I could, I would be here everyday. But my husband, he will not be persuaded.' She looked away, sighing slightly. Taegan squeezed her hands gently, trying to wake her from her solitude. Ygraine looked back, smiling slightly. 'Where is she, then?'

Taegan grinned widely. 'But, of course, I must fetch her for you.' She beckoned one of the younger priestesses dotted around the Hall towards her and whispered her an order. The priestess hurried away, and Taegan turned back to the two women. 'You know, Ygraine, after you left last time, she used to stand at the upper window for hours looking out for you.'

Vivian frowned as the two talked quietly. Her mind was racing with curiosity, who could this girl be? Did Ygraine have a relative here? A sister? It would certainly explain the visits she kept making, but she could swear Ygraine only spoke of brothers. Who then?

Taegan was deep in conversation with Ygraine when she heard a sudden yelp. She turned, frowning, to see the Lady Vivian clutching her stomach in surprise. She had almost forgotten Vivian's presence, so distracted by Ygraine's company, something she often found when the Queen visited, they had been known to spend hours together talking, often on philosophy, one of Taegan's favourite topics. But as she turned and saw Vivian's widened eyes and frightened face, she was snapped back to the Hall.

'Lady Vivian?' Taegan stepped forward, suddenly worried. 'What's happening?'

Vivian took a deep breath, feeling herself relaxing. 'Nothing, just a slight twinge. I've had them before, just never that sharp.' She rubbed her stomach hard before smiling at the Priestess, the pain clearly gone. 'I wouldn't refuse a chair though, if that's possible?'

'Of course.' Taegan shook her head slowly,as if in despair. 'I can't believe I haven't offered you one.'

It was as she was ordering chairs for the two guests that the wooden doors burst open once again, almost off their hinges with the force. From the corridor, they heard a distinctive hiss of, 'Walk! Do not run!' But from the sight of a small, blazing child racing towards them, it was obvious this was ignored.

'Morgause!' Vivian felt her heart stop as the child ran straight into Ygraine's outstretched arms and clung to her skeletal frame as if she were a squirrel to a tree. Vivian stood up from the chair she'd been fetched to try get a closer look at the child. It couldn't be her Morgause, surely?

'Morgause, we have another guest.' Taegan motioned to Vivian once Morgause had let go of Ygraine. She took a deep breath as she introduced Vivian. Morgause couldn't recignise her, surely? It had been so long. 'This is the Lady Vivian Gorlois, she rules over Titadel.'

It was as the child turned to see her, Vivian felt her heart stop. There was no denying it. She was her Morgause. In truth, she was just as Vivian had always wanted her to be.

In her, Vivian saw her father. The same mane of hair that shone as spun gold. The same air of both serious and rebellion, even at such a young age. She wasn't a slight child, though not large, just solid. And she still had the large, chestnut eyes from when she was just moments old, wrapped in Vivian's arms.

'I'm Lady Vivian.' Vivian smiled and, managing to restrain herself from running forward and holding her daughter tightly, she held out her hand.

Morgause ignored it. She stayed, perfectly still, clearly not perplexed by the new guest, the only movement being a slight tilt, as she took in Vivian. 'You're having a baby.'

Taegan laughed nervously at Morgause's sudden outburst. 'I'm sorry, Lady Vivian, she's only young, and we've only just started teaching her things like that. To help her with travellers. Do not take...'

'It's alright.' Vivian brushed it off with a wave of her hand. She was intrigued by the young girl and she didn't want explanations for that. She tilted her head, just as Morgause had, making the girl giggle at Vivian's mimicking. Taking a deep breath, she smiled once again. 'You're right, Morgause, I'm having a baby. Do you want to feel?'

Ygraine watched with a pained expression as Morgause approached Vivian and carefully placed her small palms over the woman's swollen stomach. Ygraine felt her eyes well up as she watched Morgause's surprise as she felt the baby's kicking. Taegan tapped slightly on the Queen's shoulder motioning for the two to leave and, with a heavy heart at the loss of the child's attention, she left with the High Priestess.

Vivian watched their departure guiltily, she saw how happy Ygraine was at Morgause's arrival. She knew all too well how attached Ygraine grew to others, especially children. But she could not stop the excitement growing, her happiness at finally having her own daughter alone. She couldn't help wondering how much involvement Taegan must have had in Morgause's arrival to the isle, for she seemed all too knowing.

'Is it a boy or a girl?' Morgause frowned, her young brow scrunched up in confusion.

Vivian laughed gently at the girl, careful not seem to greatly amused however, she didn't want to prevent her curiosity. 'I don't know. I won't know until the baby is born.'

'When's that?'

'A few months.' Vivian was entranced by the child's interest. Maybe she felt some connection to the baby? Was that possible? It would be her sibling, and stranger things had happened.

'That's a long time,' Morgause sulked, she had the child's desire for immediate knowledge. 'What will you call the baby?'

'Arthur if he is a boy,' Vivian admitted. 'It is the name the baby's father wants. But I have no name for a girl.' She paused, her eyes brightening as an idea struck her suddenly. 'Would you like to name the baby if she is a girl?'

She watched as Morgause took in the question, and then watched her begin nodding eagerly, grinning wildly. 'Yes. I would like that.' She stopped suddenly, her smile faltering. 'I'm going to be a High Priestess and that means I won't be allowed to have children. Or get married. But I don't mind, now I get to name your baby.' Her little brow creased up once more as she thought.

'What name do you like?' Vivian asked lightly as Morgause remained silent in thought. 'Do you have any favourite names? What does your name mean? Maybe you could find a name with a nice meaning?'

Morgause's head tilted again, something she obviously did in thought, before she said solemnly. 'My name is Morgause and that means "warrior of the Sea". But she would not be a warrior, she'll be a Lady, because you will be her mother.' Morgause looked up into Vivian's face, seeking inspiration? Or approval? Vivian couldn't tell. 'She'll never need to fight, she'll be as if she was a Princess. A Lady just like you. Lady...Morgana?'

Something struck Vivian as the child spoke. 'Morgana?'

'It means "Lady of the Sea", and I can be her warrior and keep her safe.' Morgause smiled widely, evidently content with her name choice. 'Do you like it?'

'I think it's beautiful.' Vivian nodded, yet she could not stop wondering whether this girl knew more than she did for her baby's future. Morgause couldn't know she just named her half-sister, surely? Planning her defence? 'I think it would suit her.'

She went to brush a spare piece of hair out of her face, absentmindedly, when she saw Morgause point at her forearm excitedly. 'You have a very pretty bracelet.'

Vivian looked down to see the bracelet given to her when she had given away her baby all those years ago. And here she was talking to her...

'It's a healing bracelet. It was made here by one of the High Priestesses.' Vivian eased off the jewellery and held it out to the child. 'I'd like you to have it.'

'But it's yours.'

'But I'd like to give it to you, you have helped me today.' Vivian smiled, rubbing her stomach gently. Morgause took the bracelet from her cautiously. 'And maybe, you might give to someone who helps you one day.'

* * *

><p>This was the scene Taegan and Ygraine walked back into; Vivian watching with a contented smile as Morgause placed the big bracelet on her tiny wrist. On seeing Taegan's arrival, she ran over, showing off her latest prize before whispering eagerly into her ear. After a few moments, Taegan's deep laughter filled the empty Hall while Morgause had the grin of the Cheshire Cat across her face.<p>

'You have a treat, ladies,' Taegan announced, the note of amusement in her voice still unnoticed by Morgause. 'Morgause is going to read your futures.'

Ygraine frowned, walking over to Vivian, who was following Morgause as she walked over to the stone altar, upon which sat three large crystals. The rose light from the stained glass glittered through the jewels, casting a mystical air over the young girl as she stood there. Shimmering light reflected in her dark eyes as she stared deep into the crystal's depths.

Taegan was somehow stood in between the two women next time Ygraine looked over. All three were focused on the girl in her torn trousers and stained white shirt. Minutes passed, the three women stood in silence watching Morgause strain into the crystals.

'She can't, you know.' Taegan seemed to answer the question passing through all their minds. 'We humour her because she tries so hard. But, so far, she has shown no possession of this gift. Many other gifts, yes, but the gift of a seer is rare, and few possess it.'

But as she spoke, when the women turned back, they watched Morgause stare deeper into the crystal, her eyes flashing gold madly, flicking as though watching a scene before her.

'You will have son, Lady Ygraine.' Her voice was still the voice of a young girl, but she spoke as though years older. Lady Ygraine felt her pulse racing as she listened to Morgause's words. 'Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. He will be brave and noble, destined to be the greatest King Albion will ever know.'

Morgause gazed deeper, watching the images of the tall, blond man before her before he flickered out of view, replaced by a new image. A woman with ebony hair, peridot eyes, skin as flawless as the fresh fallen snow she would watch from her window. 'And a daughter, Lady Vivian.' She did not need to be told whose child this would be. She felt the words flow instinctively. 'Lady Morgana. Courageous and passionate for what she believes in. A great destiny awaits her...'

But no more. Morgause felt her limbs grow heavy, the images from the crystal fading and she collapsed, exhausted, on the stone floor. Around her, she could vaguely hear the voice of the High Priestess, the panic from Ygraine and Vivian, but all she could think of was the woman from the crystal, laughing as she rode horseback through Camelot woods. The Lady Morgana.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for all reads/ reviews**_

_**Ice Cream Bean- Thank you lots :) I've always thought that, even though she was the main antagonist in Series 3, Morgause is quite a mysterious character. So I do enjoy writing this :)**_

_**Mike 3207- I do try very hard to write so I'm glad you enjoy :) And, do not fear, there will be some Morgause pairing in the next few chapters, so keep reading :)**_

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><p><em><em>**Chapter 3**

As hard as she tried, she could never repeat her gift of prophecy and, despite how long she stared into the crystals, she was reserved to seeing only the present. And, with this, her memories of the Lady Ygraine and the mysterious Lady Vivian dimmed, leaving her with little more than the ghost of Ygraine's smile and the healing bracelet that never left her forearm, once she realised it would stop her midnight visions, signifying the coming of her full magical abilities.

The Priestesses, Taegan notably, watched with pride as Morgause grew from the little, hyperactive yet talented girl to a beautiful, strong woman of twenty years, her magical gifts as enhanced as any they'd ever seen before. Her golden mane had grown, thankfully, into controlled ringlets, she was slim yet powerful, Taegan could imagine her being an agile warrior if she ever learnt to sword fight. But she retained her large, chestnut eyes, the only part of her that had any resemblance to her mother.

But what amazed Taegan most, as she watched Morgause reading hard in the library, or practising her magic for hours on end, was how safe she seemed to be. For she had lived through much that would have broken someone weaker. Only three months after the Lady Vivian's visit to the Isle of the Blessed, and the reunion with her daughter, though this was unknown to Morgause, Vivian had died, passed away giving birth to a daughter, Morgana. And a year after that, Ygraine was also dead, lost due to the death of her son, Prince Arthur of Camelot. Meanwhile, Uther did not stop his purges; he persecuted those with magic more fiercely than ever before, his obsession verged on mania, and it seemed High Priestesses were becoming a rare breed.

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><p>But Morgause was happy. In fact, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else in the World. The breeze was gentle through her loose, golden locks as she explored the mossy ground underfoot. Green light shone through the foliage, casting a warm glow on all that surrounded her, a sight that could only lift Morgause's heart. Above her, she could hear the chirping of birds and their chicks, the surest sign of the Spring month that had just begun.<p>

Behind her, her blood red gown rustled over the forest floor and she grimaced with each noise. It was certainly the wrong choice for the task she had been set. She'd been ordered out that morning on a search for replenishing Taegan's collection, which had fallen dangerously low during the icy Winter, when it was impossible to cross the lake to reach the isle. And she'd underestimated what the journey would be. Locked away on the Isle of the Blessed, she'd forgotten just how the seasons affected the Kingdom around her. Most notably, how wet the ground became, and how this would stain the trail of her gown behind her. Still, she could not prevent her smile from widening with each step, as she felt the sunlight warm her bare skin.

She'd been out for over an hour by the time she finally spotted the first of the herbs Taegan required. She picked it gently, holding the delicate, silvery fern between her two forefingers elegantly. She knew its uses: relief from headaches if inhaled, lessening of swelling of used as a paste, mild pain relief if eaten. It was useful, surely? Small but useful? She couldn't prevent a small, mocking question form at the back of her mind: like yourself?

Morgause frowned, she couldn't afford to think like that. After all, would it be so bad to just play a small part life? If she was useful? Just as Taegan was, aiding travellers, helping educate, it was all good surely? No, it wasn't. Morgause felt freer than she had been in months as she trailed the airy forest. Just feeling the springy forestry beneath her feet lifted her spirits higher than she'd felt within the stone walls of the isle. For it was beautiful, more beautiful than the castles of Camelot and Titadel combined. And she was at peace on the Isle of the Blessed, surrounded by women just like her, the air perfumed with magic, something she knew was a rarity in the cursed times of Uther Pendragon.

But Morgause wanted more. As much as she tried to fight the feelings on entrapment, she couldn't. She wanted to battle, to fight for magic, rather than let Uther's tyrannical persecution continue. She wanted the deafening roar of a battlefield, the hot stench of blood, a sword in her hand. But more. She wanted to find herself. She knew the priestess in her, the magic that so few could feel and control. But she had nothing else. No family, no great destiny to accomplish. She had tried asking about her past, but she had learnt little. Only that she had been given to the Old Religion to protect her. And this lack of knowledge, when she knew so much about everything else, frustrated her.  
>Still, as she left the forest, reaching the edge of the lake, the tiny herb between her fingers still, she felt all thoughts slip from her mind as she stared skyward. The sun was blinding, but beautiful, the sky clear and serene, and Morgause couldn't help but feel invincible as she basked in the sun's rays.<p>

The sun's rays though, that shouldn't be glowing orange. And shouldn't be that warm. Morgause felt her pulse race as she looked towards the isle. Towards her home. Her heart stopped in her chest when she saw the flames. Flames that tore out of the shattered windows, licking the masonry like a dragon's tongue. Towers that had been so strong lay crumbled on the isle in piles of ash stained rubble. And all Morgause could do was stare.

* * *

><p>She knew she shouldn't have. She knew it would not be safe. That the chance of any survivors was so slim it was almost impossible. But the Isle of the Blessed was her home, and she couldn't abandon her home so quickly. Her foot was shaking as she stepped from the rocking wooden boat on to the crumbling isle. Breathing deeply, she darted into the temple, the wooden doors blown off by whoever had intruded on the sacred home of the Old Religion. Smoke hung in the air, as if to barricade all from entering the doomed building, but still she continued, her thin sleeves all that prevented her from choking as she attempted to cover her mouth. Destruction lay around her, dead, mutilated corpses lay on the scorched floor, many of them unrecognisable. But she didn't need to know. They were all the women she'd eaten with that morning, studied with in her free time, lived with for her whole life. Morgause felt a tear streaming down her cheek as she continued to run through the smoke polluted corridors, searching wildly for any signs still of life. Flames roared and, distantly, she heard footsteps. But no screams, no signs of fear. She was lost in the smoke, the temple she had grown up in now an enemy to her. Fire and smoke blocked her vision, her head beginning to spin madly. Above her, she heard a crash and, cursing, she dived out of the way of the collapsing stonework, the rubble further crushing the bodies beneath. Morgause felt a sudden pain in her arm as she slammed down on the cracked floor and looked in horror at the blood now seeping from beneath her ripped sleeve. But she had no time. She was now gasping wildly, the smoke taking its toll on her slight frame.<p>

Footsteps. She turned, only to see a young man come marching towards her, ash staining his pale hair, sweat dripping down his long face. But still, he held his sword in front of him, bloodlust in his eyes. His lips turned cruelly upwards as he met Morgause's gaze. His prey, just as all the others had been. Sword raised, he never noticed her eyes flash gold, just felt the burning of the white heat of the metal above him and the blade fell from his grasp, only to be thrust through his stomach by the young woman before him. Morgause stumbled back in shock, pulling the sword with her, watching the boy, for that's all he was, fall forward, spluttering blood as his breath escaped him. She expected to feel a loss, a sadness, at his death, for she had never expected to become a killer, but she felt nothing for him, instead a determination to continue the search of what had been her home. She wiped his bloody sword on his own crimson cape, noting the golden dragon crest as she did so, and continued with a deadly glint in her chestnut eyes. For she recognised that crest. In fact, there was few who would not. The blood red with a golden dragon.

The crest of King Uther Pendragon.

A scream. Morgause felt her eyes widen in sudden response. There was someone left. Someone alive. The sword was burning the delicate skin on her palms, the smoke more suffocating with every breath, and the scream meant heading further in. But she couldn't leave it.

* * *

><p>Taegan lay on the stone floor, paralysed in fear. Her gown, her most precious item, the symbol of her priestess status, hung off her in tatters, the silk burnt beyond repair. But she knew there would be no chance ever for repair. Slowly, she raised her gaze, vision blurred from the smoke that clogged the Hall, once so beautiful, but now as a scene only visible in Hell. The stained glass lay shattered on the floor, pieces underneath her weak figure, tearing into her skin. The intricate columns were cracked in the heat as flames licked the walls around them, bits of dust falling from the collapsing ceiling. Taegan felt herself shiver, despite the crackling flames around her, their shadows dancing on the cracked floor, as she looked upon the devil before her.<p>

'You're a monster.' Despite her fear, she felt her choking voice whisper, barely audible through the roaring inferno around her.

The man before her laughed, deep and cold, wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead with an armoured hand. 'I am no monster, Witch. You are the only soulless creature here.'

'You have killed hundreds, hundreds, of people like me.' Taegan crawled up, shaking uncontrollably in heat and fear. 'People who meant you no harm.'

'You are freaks, unnatural freaks.' The man spat, thick eyebrows knitted together into a harsh frown. 'You only mean harm to anyone not like you. You are disgusting.'

'No.' Taegan looked up from where she was sat on the cold stone and met the Knight's eyes defiantly. 'It is you who persecutes innocent beings, murders and attacks those who do not fit in with what you want. It is you who is disgusting.'

She felt her body slammed into the rubble beside her, her cheek burning from the metal fist slammed into her face. Around her, she heard a scream echo in the Great Hall, and it took her seconds to realise it was her own, terrified scream. Above her, she saw the glint of steel, and prepared herself for the pain of what was sure to follow.

The Knight positioned himself over the old Witch, the hag, his sword in his hands. She was the last High Priestess and he would, undoubtably, be fully rewarded by Uther for her death. He would make it painful, make it a lesson to those who practised the black arts. Justice would prevail...

Footsteps stopped him just as he raised the blade. Footsteps that did not come from the heavy lined boots of the Knights of Camelot. He turned slowly and felt himself sneer at the person who dared challenge him.

'You declare yourself my opponent?' He jeered at the incongruous sight before him. She was slim, clothed in a torn, charcoaled gown that had once been ruby. Blood dripped freely from one limp arm and her pale face was ash stained, but not enough to conceal her beauty.

'I'm sure I can take a reward back to Camelot with me.' He laughed, coldly, as he met her doe eyed stare. The stony glare of the chestnut only enticed him further. 'And you'd be a more than a fitting prize...'

His speech was cut short as he watched the woman thrust a sword through his gut, crimson blood leaking from the wound, staining his tunic, as she pushed the sword forcefully further through his torso, burning him with a searing pain.

'This is my prize,' she hissed hatefully into his ear and she quickly withdrew the blade, watching him stumble, clutching his gaping wound, before she slashed wildly at his throat. He fell, dead, a bloody waterfall cascading from his ripped neck.

Morgause stood over her work and couldn't prevent a cruel smirk playing across her lips. She felt something with his death: pride. The blood didn't repulse her, the wound didn't disgust her, in fact, they made her feel alive.

'Morgause.'

The blonde dropped her sword at this voice, little more than a whisper, and she searched through the choking smoke to find the speaker. She found Taegan lying awkwardly on a pile of rubble, her eyelids flickering, as if she was desperately trying to fight sleep. Morgause knelt beside her, she began trying to lift the aged Priestess but she dismissed her with an exhausted wave of her wrinkled hand.

'Morgause, there's little time, and I have much I need to tell you,' she rasped, putting up her hand to stop Morgause's attempt at interrupting her. 'Do not stop me, Morgause, we both know I speak the truth.'

'You could tell me everything when you are recovered, Taegan,' Morgause protested desperately, her eyes threatening to well up at the sight of the noble High Priestess reduced to the weak, limp figure before her. Taegan's silence, though, dispelled any hopes the blonde woman had. 'At least let me move you, away from this chaos. Away from the fire.'

'I would not survive the move, my child.' Weakly, with a shaking hand, Taegan pulled the cloth of her gown over her stomach, revealing a long slash, and a bloody mess beneath. She smiled sadly. 'But the fire will not get us. Do you think a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess would be damaged by a mere fire? No, this is why the Knight came after me, believing me to be the last surviving Priestess. But he was wrong.' She let her head roll back, a contented peace pass through her eyes. Slowly, she grasped one of Morgause's burnt hands. 'I am glad it is you here, Morgause. There are things I must tell you that would have haunted me in the Other World had I not.'

'I understand, Taegan.' Morgause attempted to reassure the dying woman before her. She wanted to look strong, when she really felt weaker than the crumbling building around her. 'My destiny, to rebuild the isle. To fill it with magic once more. I understand.'

'No.' Taegan squeezed the blonde's hand slightly before sighing, feeling a tear slip from her tired eyes. 'There is more...it is about your family, Morgause.'

'I have no family,' she scoffed. 'No, that is wrong. You are my family.'

'That is an endearing gesture, my child, but you have a true family.' Taegan took a deep breath in an attempt to control herself. She noted Morgause's slightly gaping mouth. 'That, meanwhile, is no attractive look for you. But you must not interrupt me as I speak, I have little time and much information for you.' She watched with narrowed eyes as Morgause nodded reluctantly and she prepared herself for the information she was about to give. 'I have always tried to treat you as though you were any other Priestess here, but I fear I have always failed. You are not like the others, not only in magic potential, but also in origin. For you have a mother, Morgause, and a father somewhere...'

'I do not under...'

But the woman once again raised her aged palm to silence her. 'You were the result of a brief affair between your father, a Druid man, and a noble woman. She was unable to keep you, in the fear you would inherit your father's gifts and would be persecuted. So she had you brought here, in the hope we would keep you protected.'

'But who was she?' Morgause was reeling, feeling her head spinning with the news she now possessed. Her father was a Druid? It clearly explained her grasp of magic, but her mother was noble? It made no sense to her.

Taegan looked up into Morgause's earnest gaze as she spoke, 'You've met her, Morgause, though whether you'll remember her is another question. She gave you the bracelet.'

Instinctively, Morgause grabbed the metal bracelet on her forearm, though it was burning to touch. She hadn't thought of the benefactor for years, but her mind now instantly flicked back. She was a child once more, gazing in admiration at the dark, beautiful woman before her. 'Lady Vivian Gorlois?...But that is impossible.'

'It is true, my child.' Taegan sighed. 'Though I wish, for your sake, it weren't. She had you secretly in Camelot and then smuggled here...'

'Then I must find her.' Morgause's eyes widened, the chestnut gleaming as though just been struck by an awe inspiring idea. 'She will want to see me, surely?'

'Morgause...' Taegan began slowly, unsure of how to breach the next subject. Silence hung between the two women, around them the chaos had calmed, the fires were dying, leaving merely ash. The ageing Priestess adjusted slightly on the rubble beneath her, in a desperate attempt to comfort herself, before deciding she needed to merely give Morgause the news outright. 'Morgause, my child, the Lady Vivian is dead. We told you at the time but it was so long ago, no-one was sure if you'd remember.' The horrified look on Morgause's face, of one whose just lost all hope after the promise of redemption, showed that she had, indeed, not remembered this fact. 'It was only a few months after her visit here when you were a child. She died in childbirth, giving birth to a daughter.'

Soot cascaded from Morgause's curls as she shook her head, almost manically, attempting to take in the news. 'Then I will find my father, that must be it, surely?'

'Morgause, I do not even know his name. He was a Druid, impossible to track down at the best of times.' Taegan could feel her throat closing as she spoke, her breath attempting to leave her, and she began to speak quicker. She couldn't part from the World without helping the figure before her, whose tear stained, ashy face looked so hopeless. 'He may even be dead, there is no point in searching for him.'

'Then what...?'

'Listen to me, Morgause.' Taegan squeezed her hands sharply. 'There is little time left, you must focus. There is one person left, Lady Vivian's daughter, your half-sister, Lady Morgana. And she is in danger. Gorlois is dead, killed in battle, serving Uther. And, in return, Uther has taken 11 year old Morgana as his ward in Camelot. Currently, she is safe and protected, but there are rumours she suffers nightmares. They could be nothing, or, as a believe, they could be a show that she possesses magic and is, potentially, a seer. When you were a child, Morgause, you said you would be her warrior. Prove this.'

'Lady Morgana?' Morgause could see the figure once more, the pale, ebony haired woman on horseback, that she'd seen in the crystal all those years ago. 'How?'

'Seek protection with King Cenred. He is egotistical and a coward, but he accepts magic in his kingdom and will keep you safe. And he suffers with the weakness of all men.' Taegan raised a shaking hand to stroke Morgause's cheek, wet with tears. 'As long as you are there, you will be protected. Use your time wisely, your magic is powerful, but you lack physical strength. Learn to fight. You were lucky today, you had the element of surprise, but you will not always have that. Expand your knowledge, learn history, study maps, philosophy. You must be faultless, Morgause. For one day, when the time is right, you will be needed.'

Her breath was now short, her chest heaving exhaustedly. Taegan could feel her eyelids growing heavy and, fatigued, she let them slowly close, a contented smile pass across her pale face. From her lips, white from pain, she whispered, as light as breath, 'You have a great destiny, my child.'

* * *

><p>And the last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess was left clutching her mentor, and friend's, limp figure, smoke billowing around her from the dying embers that littered the cold Hall, and she howled in loss.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It wasn't so much the death that affected her; it was the overwhelming sense of loss that seemed to haunt her. Morgause had extinguished all the remaining fire, but it was clear the isle would never be the same. Where there had once been beauty, only destruction remained. The perfume of magic that had once lingered had been replaced with the overpowering odour of burnt flesh and charcoal. She'd done a desperate search for survivors, but all she ever found was death. And with every mutilated body she found, she felt her hatred for Uther's tyrannical reign grow, as if the fire that had ruined her World now raged inside her helpless heart. But in this hatred, which only made her want to cry bitter tears in the ravaged building that was once her home, she remembered Taegan's words. Her heritage. Daughter of Lady Vivian. Her half-sister trapped within Camelot's suffocating walls. Just the promise of a family, someday, would leave her head spinning; dim the raging fire within her. The piercing gaze in Taegan's eyes as she lay dying kept themselves burning in Morgause's mind, as she remembered Taegan's last order to her. Find King Cenred. Seek protection with him. Use whatever method you need to.

* * *

><p>Which is how she came to be stood on the rocky hill, a bitter wind bringing tears to her dark eyes, staring down at the bloody sight before her. She'd never seen a battleground before, but the one below was not the heroic image she'd been led to believe it would be. Dark, indistinguishable figures fought amongst themselves, the slaughter churning the earth beneath them with pools of crimson blood. There seemed to be no clear victor from where she stood, just a sickening massacre. And she itched with the chance of joining it.<p>

Straining forward, she searched the battlefield for her desired object, the King Cenred. The blonde sighed in frustration as she searched in vain, it seemed. For all the knowledge she possessed from her years of studying on the Isle of the Blessed, she had never heard of Cenred, or his Kingdom. Which meant, unfortunately, all she knew was from Taegan's description. Cowardly and egotistical. Morgause cursed angrily, Taegan's description matched all men, how it was supposed to help, she didn't know.

She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening as she locked onto her find. It was him, Cenred, certainly. A dark figure on horseback at the back of one of the sides' forces. His sword was drawn, but he was not prepares to use it. In fact, Morgause noted amusedly, he was almost relaxed in the horse's saddle, as though he was watching a jousting match rather than the bloodthirsty battle before him. Morgause smiled as she mulled Taegan's description over: egocentric and cowardly. And she now understood exactly what the High Priestess had meant, for if the figure before her was not the most egocentric coward she had ever seen, she was unsure what was.

In her heavy armour, she turned back to the white stallion behind her. She regretted to say both items were dead man's property. The armour, rather primitive considering it belonged to a Knight of Camelot, was too big for her slim frame, though at least the helmet fit her with enough space to conceal her golden mane. She had kept the sword she used to slay Taegan's killer and, even now, she could feel her heart pounding as she held it tight. But the horse, that had been another matter. She had found him by the lakeside, obviously meant for when its rider returned from the isle, and had thought possessing a horse would be useful in her mission. Until she had realised she'd never mounted a horse in her life, let alone ridden one. It had taken time, and some hard miles riding, before she'd worked out roughly, how to ride. The beast was friendly enough though, thankfully. And, with the reigns in hand, she began to head, determinedly, towards the bloody battle that lay before her.

* * *

><p>The battle was worsening, the tide turning heavily against his army, Cenred realised grimly. In every direction, he could see his soldiers lying motionless on the crimson stained grass, their limbs ripped, some of them still moaning helplessly. And, worse perhaps of all, he'd ended up in the midst of the bloodthirsty chaos, sword in either hand, battling the common thugs opposing him. They were ill-disciplined, thrusting wildly, grinning manically with crooked, yellow teeth and psychopathic eyes. And he was having no problem in cutting them down, controlled stabs that sent them falling. Yet the battle was not turning, and the soldiers were never ending. Cenred could feel sweat pouring down his already grimy face and, in it, he could feel his own mortality. His ears pounded with war cries and it took him time to realise his own voice was hoarse with shouting. This battle certainly wasn't the easy victory he had expected...<p>

A clash of metal roused him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the slaughter around him. He had not felt any retaliation in this battle before, he could take opponents down with a quick blow, no fighting involved. But, as he looked up towards his opposition's manic face, he felt his own pale. A brute of a man stood before him, towering over Cenred's pathetic form, a broadsword grasped tightly in a perfectly muscled arm. A single kick sent Cenred, still reeling in shock at the beast he faced, sprawling into a bloody puddle. And, as sure as the rising sun, Cenred watched with pale dark eyes as the broadsword was raised, and he prepared himself for the emptiness that would follow.

Except it never came. No quick slice, no pain, no emptiness. Instead, he watched as his opponent flew backwards, as though been hit by a singular blast of an earthquake aftershock. His neck snapped back, sounding his death with an earth shattering crack as the bones snapped. And a metal gloved hand was offered to Cenred, pulling him up to find himself meeting a chain mail clad soldier, so unlike his leather figure, whose only visible feature under their battered helmet was a pair of large, chestnut eyes.

* * *

><p>'We have the soldier you requested, my Lord. Shall we send him in?'<p>

Cenred's head snapped up at his servant's low voice and, with an exhausted signal, he ordered the servant to bring the man in.

The battle had finally ended a little before nightfall and, surprisingly, it had been a victory for Cenred's depleted forces. The mysterious Knight who had saved Cenred's life had also turned the battle, it seemed. For their display on the field, which must have been magic, Cenred realised, had taken the fight out of the opposition. He had lost sight of the figure after he saved him, though, as much as he had wanted to thank the Knight. But now his servants had found him. Cenred smiled to himself, leaning back in his velvet padded chair, and watched as the ruby tent doors split open and the figure entered, still clad in the ill fitting chain mail.

'Take a seat. It's the least you deserve.' Cenred motioned to the wooden chair opposite him, yet the Knight remained stood, hands clasped behind their back. Amused, Cenred smirked. 'Do I not get to see your face? Meet you officially?'

The Knight nodded solemnly and bent down, removing the helmet slowly. All Cenred saw was a flurry of golden curls as the figure looked up, chestnut eyes boring into him.

'My name is Morgause.'

He wasn't what she'd expected. Morgause had envisioned a powerful leader, someone who could afford to be cowardly due to fearsome reputation. Someone who could protect her from Uther's purges until she was powerful enough to fight him herself. But Cenred wasn't anything like that. He was tall, but thin, no air of powerful persona that would command respect. Instead, she was almost repulsed by him, from the cocky edge to his voice, his self important actions. Looking up into his face, she noted the limp, greasy hair and chiselled features. His face almost redeemed him; she could imagine hordes of women swooning over his unshaven cheeks or jet eyes. But the glint in his black orbs, the glint of a man who has just been given an unexpected present, sent Morgause a wave of disgust that went to her very core.

She pleased him. Cenred chuckled to himself as he looked into Morgause's defiant face. Of all he had been expecting beneath the helmet, he had not anticipated the doe eyed beauty that stood before him. Even the ill fitting armour did not deter him. For he could not tear his gaze from her curved cheekbones, her golden hair that caught all the fire's glow, and the determined glint in her dark eyes, which sent a shiver down his spine.

'I see you're surprised.' Morgause raised an eyebrow mockingly.

'You misjudge me.' Cenred stood, and slowly circled Morgause's defiant stance. 'I expected nothing less, in fact. Please, take a seat.'

He motioned once again to the chair while, from the wooden table beside the fire in the corner, he took a flagon of blood red wine, and two glasses. Morgause sat, smirking slightly; as she took a glass from his hand, and watched him pour the crimson liquid in one fluid motion.

'You must do this for many women, Cenred.' Morgause took a sip slowly, tasting for any foreign flavour. At his quizzical expression, she laughed. 'I saved your life on that battlefield. I expect to be on first name terms after that.'

'Very well, Morgause.' Cenred chuckled lowly at Morgause's brave logic. He let a forefinger circle the edge of his glass. 'And I'm afraid I've never entertained anyone as enchanting as you.'

'You are as charming as they say, then?' She asked, raising her gaze to meet his. 'Though you must be aware of what else they say, of course.'

He laughed, a rough, almost dirty laugh. It seemed to inspire something in Morgause, a stirring deep inside her stomach. Something must have reflected in her face, for Cenred's eyes narrowed. 'Ah, but I mean what I say. You are most enchanting, Morgause. Literally, as well, from the display on the battlefield.' He felt himself laughing once again as he watched the blonde's dark eyes widen. 'You need not fear, as you said yourself, you saved my life. I am no Uther, I do not condemn heroes merely for the tactics they will use to secure victory. I have used murkier tactics than magic, I assure you. Though I doubt you would have been much use had you only had conventional warfare.'

'Conventional warfare?'

'Sword.' Cenred shrugged, a wicked glint in his eyes. 'Everyone knows women make appalling swordsmen.'

Morgause placed her empty goblet on the floor at her feet and stood, throwing a heavy metal glove at the ground before Cenred. She smirked, biting her lip playfully. 'Prove it then, mighty King Cenred. Beat me in armed combat. I challenge you.'

He looked at her inquisitively for a second, his cold, onyx eyes meeting her chestnut gaze, before she heard the clash of metal and realised he'd swung at her and, somehow, she'd blocked his attack. A ghost smile passed across his rough lips at every block she posed. Of which there were a considerable number, Morgause was not a bad warrior in battle. She was agile, matching his footwork as they circled, fast in defence. Her height gave her no advantage, of course, and the sword was obviously heavy to her slight frame. Still, she was giving Cenred a good fight, he chuckled, blocking his every strike, but never on the offensive herself.

A sudden sharp pain in his side. A small, ruby stain spreading through the rip in his leather shirt. His sword fell from his hand as he covered the wound, taking it away to see blood dripping from his fingers. He looked up to see Morgause's triumphant face, victory curving her lips cruelly.

'I believe you are the victor, Morgause.' Cenred spat disgustedly, falling back into his throne like chair with a curse.

'You should learn to be more elegant in defeat, Cenred,' Morgause reprimanded softly before kneeling beside his chair, almost at his feet. She ignored his pained smirk at her position. 'Turn, Cenred, or how can I help you?'

'Help me?'

He turned anyway, despite her silence, until he was facing the tent wall, and Morgause was able to peel back the torn leather and see the wound she inflicted clearly. She had to hold herself back from taunting the man's pitifully low pain threshold as she noted how shallow the injury actually was, despite the blood. He watched with an indifferent air as the blonde inspected his side with, what looked like, an amused smile. Cenred felt himself preparing to snap at her, snatch away from her cold touch and mocking lips, when he felt himself yelp, as a frightened puppy might. In his side, he could feel a thousand needles pricking his skin, and he looked in shock as Morgause's eyes flashed a brilliant gold, eerily reflected in the fire's burn. Then, no pain.

Morgause stood up elegantly, despite the oversized chain mail that still adorned her figure. Seeing Cenred's widened eyes, she purred, 'Surely you did not think I only used magic to save the losing army in battles?'

'But what did you do...?'

'I've sealed your wound, there will not even be a scar.' Morgause took her helmet from the floor where she'd left it and bowed to Cenred's throne slightly. 'And now, I must go.'

'Wait!' He stood quickly, amazed at the lack of pain despite what she'd just explained. His eyes glittered as though he'd just had a miraculous stroke of genius. 'Why not become my physician? I have no-one as talented as you in my court in both battle and medicine it appears. And you seek safety from Camelot, surely? Here, you would be out of Uther's control, and could earn your way by serving me.'

'A physician?'

'You aided me well.' Cenred motioned to the chair beside him as he sat back down, goblet in hand once more. 'Come, sit and we can discuss.' He smirked slightly at Morgause's sceptical expression. 'Of course, if you'd rather, we could go somewhere more private.'

Morgause gave a soft laugh as she turned to leave, briefly glancing over her shoulder at Cenred's lone figure. 'I am no harem, Cenred. It will take more than a single glass of wine to win me to your bed.'

And she was gone, the flutter of the tent doors the only sign of her presence.

* * *

><p>King Uther sat also with goblet in hand, though he was sat at the head of a long oak table, a silver plate of food piled high before him. Beside him, a small blond boy was demonstrating with his knife the sword movements he had learnt that day, a wide grin on his face. On his other side, a dark haired girl sat silent, pushing food sullenly around her plate.<p>

'Come, Morgana, smile!' Uther said, as he noted the young girl's face. 'You cannot learn to fight, it is not an occupation for young ladies.'

'I don't care, I want to be a knight.' She folded her arms stubbornly and Uther felt himself giving a bellowing laugh.

'You will not be saying that in a few years, trust me. You'll be walking round in long dresses happy to be Lady of Camelot...'

The Hall doors burst open, causing all three people to fall silent as a young soldier burst in, almost running to the King's side.

'What is the meaning of this?'

'My Lord, King Lot was defeated in battle yesterday by Cenred's army.' The man panted heavily, bowing weakly. Uther stood up in anger, slamming his goblet down furiously, an action that was copied by Arthur to his left.

'But he was outnumbered? I was told there was no chance food Cenred's victory. How did this happen?'

Uther's barrage of questions left the young soldier gasping for breath. Eventually, he whispered, low as though even the walls were listening, 'They say he was saved mid battle by magic, my Lord. And that he has, now, allied with a sorceress.'

'Magic?' Uther spat, infuriated. 'Cenred can only mean to use it as a disgusting weapon against me. Well, he will never succeed.' He turned to Morgana, who was looking up at him with large, peridot eyes. 'I was wrong, Morgana. You can learn to fight, you can start tomorrow. Everyone must be prepared to stamp out sorcery, whoever they are. It must be our priority.'

'You're going to let a girl learn to fight? So she can kill witches?' Arthur moaned, his unbroken, childish voice piercing to the ear. 'But that's what I want to do.'

'I don't want to kill sorcerers,' Morgana said meekly, staring down at her lap, where she entwined her hands in fear. 'I don't think magic is bad.'

Uther looked down at her, a cold glint in his pale eyes. 'Magic killed the late Queen, Morgana, Arthur's mother. It can only be used to cause harm. Sorcery is evil and all sorcerers should be punished for their unnatural crimes. Never forget that.'

* * *

><p><strong>I wanted to add the last section just to include the more well known characters, as they won't be a main feature for a few chapters yet, and show Uther's tyranny paranoia**

**I've also tried to shorten this chapter as I've noticed the last two were very long**

**Thank you for reading :) **

**(Reviews make me happy)  
><strong>

**Mike 3207- That is exactly what I thought, I wanted to give Morgause a good reason for hating Uther, rather than just wanting his throne**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sunlight pierced the high window, sending a blinding beam down into the low room, slowly illuminating the motionless figure on the bed. A warm caress rose up the figure, from her toned legs to her head, hitting her golden curls, spread untamed across the dirty pillow, creating a sunlit halo around her sleeping form. It took time, however, before her doe eyes fluttered open and she sat up, raising herself with slender arms, a slight smile resting on her lips at the summer morning.

It had been just over a year since she'd taken the position as physician to Cenred. And, surprisingly, Morgause felt content. Nothing compared to how she once felt on the Isle of the Blessed, where she felt so high nothing could ever hurt her. For that had ended with the loss of Taegan, the closest she had ever had to a real friend. But she was content with Cenred's court. He understood her gifts, and Morgause was permitted to study magic in her free time, a rare notion when sorcerers were being hunted in each corner of the Five Kingdoms. She'd studied history as well, in a desperate attempt to become a more valued court member to Cenred. For, however close she was, she was not close enough to the frivolous King. She needed to become someone he relied on, yet someone he feared. Someone who could fascinate him, yet challenge him. And, most of all, someone he would never hand over to Uther Pendragon in exchange for a few, cheap pieces of land.

'Morgause!'

Morgause's lip curled slightly as she heard the knock on the rotting door to her physician's quarters. The accompanying voice got her out of bed quickly as she ran from her chambers to her treatment room and stood behind the door, her head against the rough wood.

'I thought I would grant you the pleasure of a visit, Morgause,' The rough voice murmured through the thin cracks in the door.

The blonde smiled, twirling one of her curls around her fingers gently. 'And how can you be so sure this would please me, Cenred?'

A low chuckle. 'I know how to please a woman, Morgause.' Silence. 'Will we be continuing this conversation through a door all morning?'

He heard her laugh lightly from behind the door, his eyes darkened with heated desire. Morgause turned, placing her back against the door, smirking as she listened to Cenred's rapid breathing through the door.

'You woke me, Cenred, I'm not sure letting you in would be quite appropriate.' She teased, her voice a whisper through the door. Beneath her frame, she could almost feel Cenred's pounding heartbeat through the wood as he pushed further to the door.

'Morgause, I do not care what state you are, or are not, in, I'm coming in.' He burst through the door, staggering slightly as her counterweight had gone. His eyes searched manically, the black orbs darting greedily, before finding her sat at her physician's desk, head bent over a scroll of parchment, fully clothed.

On hearing his heavy footsteps approach, she looked up from beneath her golden blaze of curls and laughed at his crestfallen expression. 'My dear Cenred, I learnt a long time ago that, while living in a castle occupied only by men, sleeping undressed is not an option open to me.'

Cenred let a dark smile creep across his face as he sat down opposite her, legs spread inelegantly, looking out from beneath the greasy curtain of hair surrounding his face. He let his eyes wander down from her face, taking in her overgrown, dirty white shirt that disallowed him from making out any feature above her legs, which were clad in black trousers ending just below the knee. Still, he could imagine what was beneath that shirt, a pastime that often distracted him...

'Cenred, are you even listening?'

He snapped back, looking up into her face, eyebrows raised mockingly, and he nodded disinterestedly.

'I asked why you are here so early, it is barely morning.'

'I'm inviting you to a feast, tonight, Morgause, as surprising as that may be.' He noted her quizzical expression as she stood, fetching a jug and two glasses from a shelf on the far wall. Unconsciously, he felt himself follow her as she walked, his voice low. 'It is as your King desires, Morgause.'

She smirked wickedly as she brought the jug back, leaning in to pour the crimson liquid into Cenred's glass. 'And is that really what you desire, Cenred?'

He looked up, slicking back his greasy hair, a half smile dancing on his face, dark with stubble. 'You know all I want is from you. What use is a sorceress if she can't grant your desires, after all?'

'That is no answer.'

He chuckled at her abrupt answer, sipping the wine in his glass slowly. 'Very well. I desire Camelot, Morgause, and all the spoils that victory there would bring.'

'I can perform magic, not miracles, Cenred.' She laughed, Cenred's mismatched army lingering in her mind, as contrasting to the brute Knights of Camelot who had destroyed her home before. She felt her laughter die quickly.

'What about you, Morgause? What is it that you truly want?'

A dozen images racing through her mind. She thought of Taegan, dying on the stone floor, the Isle of the Blessed consumed by roaring flames. Lady Vivian passing her the bracelet, that she now felt herself clutch instinctively, Queen Ygraine's lingering fragrance as she held her close as a child. But strongest of all, she saw the ebony haired girl from the crystals, whose peridot eyes bored into her very soul, and whose very life seemed to rest in Morgause's ability to, one day, snatch her from Uther's tyrannical grasp.

'I wish to learn to fight. To become a swordswoman.' Morgause looked up from her lap, her chestnut orbs wide in demented determination. 'I wish to become a master of the blade, to rival even the Knights of Camelot. Even the King of Camelot himself.'

'And my desire would take a miracle?' Cenred shook his head in amusement, laughing loudly to himself. 'No-one will teach a lowly woman to fight, Morgause. Everyone knows it is not worth the effort. Knights of Camelot, indeed!'

And with that, he downed the remainder of his scarlet liquor, and left the room, continuing to chuckle at Morgause's sudden wish, leaving the blonde alone at her table, with a burning hatred in her narrowed eyes.

* * *

><p>'And, of course, this feast is in honour of a great event.'<p>

Morgause looked up from her place at Cenred's left side, the room spinning slightly through her blurred sight. The third cup of wine had been a mistake. Yet, she still reached for a fourth.

She had been avoiding Cenred since he walked out on her that morning. His refusal to help her, as well as his mocking laughter, still caused her blood to boil as she thought about them. But she hadn't seen him either and, in fact, she was surprised she still had a seat at the feast, her first feast, since she'd never been included before. And, even more surprising, she had Cenred's left hand side, though she would rather sit on his right, the typical seat for his advisor, the left typically being held by a woman. Still, she was closer than ever.

Rapidly blinking, the blonde attempted to regain her focus as she looked at the standing King as he addressed the hall full of his warriors and closest advisors.

'As many of you will have, no doubt, noticed, this is one of the greatest feasts I've held,' Cenred announced, motioning to the piles of rich food and tankards of wine that filled the long, rough tables. 'But it's all for a good reason.'

'Has Uther tragically been murdered?'

Cenred chuckled at the drunken shouting of one of his men, who sat grinning foolishly as the room erupted into laughter at his comment.

'Unfortunately not,' Cenred replied, a wicked glint illuminating his dark eyes. 'No, on this summer evening, we instead celebrate a day of birth. Specifically, we celebrate the birth date of our physician, to whom most of you owe, at least, your limbs, if not your lives. Stand up, Morgause.' He motioned for her to stand, which she did shakily, aware of the hall of eyes fixed on her. Cenred picked up his goblet, holding it high. 'To Morgause.'

Around her, she felt the room vibrate with the thundering response as a hundred men held up their cups. 'To Morgause.'

* * *

><p>'That was impressive, Cenred.' Morgause sat on a black velvet divan in Cenred's chambers later that evening, her legs curled under her, as she continued to sip her goblet of blood red wine. With her free hand, she stroked the velvet beneath her, as though trying to reassure herself it was still there in her drunken state. 'Why would you go through so much effort for me?'<p>

Cenred smiled charmingly. 'Why wouldn't I? As I said, most of my men owe you their very lives. I owe you my army. Besides, I should like to think we have grown closer over this last year, close enough to recognise events like this.'

'Not close enough,' Morgause felt herself say, unsure of why. Still, she relished the satisfied look that passed through Cenred's eyes as she spoke.

'I have something for you, Morgause.'

Cenred turned and snapped his fingers, instantly summoning a darkly dressed servant, carrying a small, black, wooden chest in his arms. He placed it gently at Morgause's side, before leaving, as quick as if a mere wisp of smoke. Morgause frowned as she leant down, her golden ringlets falling over her face as she fumbled with the chest clasp with fingers that no longer felt like hers. Eventually she threw the lid back, to reveal red satin within. She pulled it out, using her best attempts at delicacy, and felt her eyes widen as she held up the ruby gown once given to her by Taegan on the Isle of the Blessed. The dress that she had burnt until it was charcoal black and had been ripped until it was unrecognisable.

'How did you...?' She felt herself slur over her words, stammer over her articulation. The dress was changed, of course. The floaty sleeves had become tight, made of lace that entwined like spiders' webs to create an air of mystery, with threads of gold that glittered as they caught the fire's glow. But it only made the dress more beautiful, more perfect.

Cenred couldn't help smiling at Morgause's widened orbs, glossy with either drink or emotion. He didn't care which. 'I couldn't let you live forever in those.' He motioned to the shirt and trousers she had kept on for the feast. 'They are hardly flattering enough for position as both court physician and sorceress.'

She looked up, tearing her eyes from the material in her shaking hands. 'How did you...?'

'Found it in your wardrobe.'

'You searched my wardrobe?' She stood up, tossing the gown aside, a livid frown across her face.

'Sit down, Morgause, you should know you are only more beautiful when you are angry.' He smirked, noting her raised eyebrow at his backhanded compliment. 'Take up your drink again. Of course, I had to search your wardrobe, you could have been a spy for all I knew.'

'For all Kings should be threatened by the mighty King Cenred.' Morgause returned Cenred's smirk, causing him to scowl bitterly. 'But court sorceress? You make me sound like a performer.'

Cenred circled his goblet once more, his black eyes glittering as the night sky through the window. 'Well maybe, Morgause, you could challenge whoever dares call you a mere performer.'

The blonde's smirk faded at this, her stare piercing. 'Challenge?'

'I rethought your request this morning, Morgause, and I admit I was wrong.' Cenred shrugged, brushing a stray piece of hair from his eyes. 'Having a woman at court who is skilled with a sword can only be an advantage, really. Think of it as another birthday present. A little treat.'

Morgause let a sweet smile pass across her lips, the smile of a woman in victory. When she spoke, her voice was laced with honey. 'Well, Cenred, you have certainly given me a night to remember.' She downed the remainder of blood red liquid in her golden goblet and stood up, swaying slightly, but with a seductive smile on her wine stained lips. 'Now, let me give you a night you will always remember.'

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the men from the door and, taking the King's hand in hers, she led him to the four poster bed behind her as the chambers were locked for the night.

* * *

><p><strong>Read and review please :)<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

His thundering snoring woke her. With a groan, she flickered her eyes open, allowing them to become used to her dark surroundings, the only light from the full moon, winking through the dirty glass windows. She sat up in her place, having fully abandoned the idea of sleeping again, and looked down at Cenred's figure beside her. How damned peaceful he looked, she thought harshly, having to fully restrain herself from smothering him with the feather pillow behind her back. Still, it was these moonlit hours that she treasured to herself, if only for her own reflection.

It had been nine years, nine long years, since her seduction of Cenred. Since, drunkenly, she had taken to his bed, drunkenly given into the hunger she thought would consume her, as naive as she had been. For she regretted it now, more than anything.

Morgause sighed, she was being ridiculous, it was too early for this thinking. After all, she was safer now. She was Cenred's chief advisor, free to challenge him on everything from the welfare of his people, to his policies on warfare. He was a coward, more so than ever, with no heir to place on his throne after him. Though it was surprising, considering how many whores he surrounded himself with. He accused her of thinking only with her sword, the blade being a practice she had picked up quickly, faster than any of Cenred's men, and more developed than any in the Kingdom, they said. And her magic had developed; she was strong, strong enough to win all of Cenred's battles for him. Those he fought, anyway, those he didn't sit cowering in his citadel to avoid.

But she was trapped, once again. She felt like a butterfly trapped under a bell jar, wings fluttering desperately as she was slowly suffocated, looking at freedom through thick glass as her own life slipped from grasp. She was safe, of course, but she longed for danger, for threat, and for the freedom these brought her. Morgause sighed, a defeated dullness reflected in her dark eyes. What did she have in the World to leave for, anyway? Here, she was safe, she could practice magic without danger, she was the Kingdom's best swordsman, she was the King's chief advisor. But out there? Nothing.

Still not even her healing bracelet could stop her dreams of the ancient castles, with cold corridors and crumbling stonework, and open plains, acres she could ride over, a mysterious chain mail clad figure once more, which lay beyond Cenred's dominion.

* * *

><p>'I have important news, my Lord.'<p>

Cenred lifted his gaze from the chipped, stone flooring beneath his feet, to focus on the man on bended knee before him. From behind his greasy curtain of hair, Cenred could recognise the man he entrusted as foreign ambassador, his pulse quick in the veins visible in his dirty, thin neck.

'Speak then.'

Stood behind Cenred's throne, notably at his right side now, Morgause spoke. Her voice was low, threatening, and the ambassador felt himself gulp in fright, he had heard stories of those who upset the sorceress who was now resting her hand on the top of the King's wooden throne.

But Cenred raised his hand leisurely, looking up at Morgause with his jet eyes, glittering as the polished stone itself. 'Now, now, Morgause. He will speak in his time.'

The ambassador nodded eagerly in fear and Morgause relaxed, perching herself on the arm of Cenred's seat. Cenred smirked darkly and motioned for the man before him to continue with his news, news he'd felt so important as to barge into the Hall unannounced for, only moments before.

'I've been at Camelot for the past few weeks.' He stammered, sweating slightly from the white heat of the stares directed at him. 'Strictly business, of course.'

Cenred smiled at the comment; ambassador in this court basically meant spy, and he was proud to have one positioned in every neighbouring court, at one time or another.

'And Camelot is in uproar, just yesterday the news hit. I know not of any change since then but...'

'Is this getting anywhere?' Morgause asked, impatience dripping from her voice.

The ambassador swallowed, looking up with worried eyes. 'Uther's ward has been kidnapped.'

Morgause's head snapped up, her eyes wide, any irritation she felt towards the man had vanished with his utterance. 'Uther's ward?'

'Yes, my Lady.' The man nodded, confused at her change in tone, from cold to sudden interest. 'The Lady Morgana, daughter of Gorlois.'

'Ah, Gorlois, I know of him. He was a good man, a better man than Uther Pendragon. And his daughter? She must be about 22 now?' Cenred thought aloud, before he shrugged, his face emotionless. 'But why is this relevant to me?'

The man was backing away nervously, attempting to distance himself from his seemingly useless information, when Morgause shook her head, golden curls flailing about her head. She stood from the chair arm, a concerned frown upon her face. 'Kidnapped? By whom?'

'Uther believes it was the Druids, my Lady,' the ambassador stammered, preparing for the attack which was bound to follow from the notoriously unstable sorceress. Yet all he saw were her chestnut eyes widening as she turned on her heel and stormed from the Hall, her crimson gown sweeping behind her like a bloody tail.

'Leave.' Cenred ordered and the man scuttled from the Hall, face pale, and Cenred looked back towards Morgause's disappeared figure, curious.

* * *

><p>Cenred woke early the next morning. Through the dirty glass window, he could see the icy blue sky, splashed with the rose pink that signified the sun had yet to rise and warm the cold horizon. The room was dim still, walls barely illuminated, the air cold. He sat up groggily, why wasn't he dressed? His chest was bare, goosebumps prominent along his naked arms, the dark hair stood up in the low temperature. Blinking rapidly through the ringing echoing around his head, the King thought back to the night before. He had held an impromptu feast, in honour of the Druids who had kidnapped Uther's ward. There had been drink. A lot of drink. Morgause had been quiet, reserved, strange for her. That had changed, of course, Cenred smirked as the rest of the night came back to him, and he realised why he was undressed.<p>

'My dear Morgause, I must say you were exquisite last night.' Cenred chuckled and he looked down beside him, and frowned as he looked down at the vacant place beside him. She'd been there, singular golden strands remained on the pillow, and her scent remained in the air, seeming to dance around his nostrils. Slowly, he could feel rage beginning to boil in his stomach; she'd never done this before.

With a low growl, gritty like that of a mountain lion, he clawed his way from his bed and stumbled; still intoxicated it seemed, to his chamber door. He'd find Morgause, even if he had to wake the whole citadel.

'Morgause! Witch! Soldiers, get her back to my chambers!' He tore the heavy door open, roaring, only to find his doorframe blocked by two women, arms linked, their eyes glinting mischievously. Cenred's voice fell in a second.

'Morgause had to leave early this morning, my Lord,' one of the women, with fiery locks to her narrow waist, said, a ghostly smile haunting her painted lips.

'But she told us to tell you that if there's anything you desire, anything at all, we are here,' the second one said, smiling seductively as both the women lowered their eyes momentarily. Cenred looked down, following their gaze, becoming suddenly aware of his distinct lack of clothing. After an initial bout of panic, he smirked.

'Anything at all, ladies?'

'Anything at all.' Their voices rang out in unison.

Cenred couldn't help but smile at Morgause's logic; she leaves, with no word, gives him two harems, presumably as a last gift. Well, he couldn't be ungrateful. With a broad grin, as a child receiving an unexpected present, the King ushered the women into his chambers, closing the door silently behind him.

* * *

><p>By this time, she was miles away. Wind flew into her face, pushing her hair wildly, causing the blond curls to whip her neck furiously, as though forcing her onwards. Rain splashed down upon her, a torrent enough to drown one that was foolish enough to dare face it. But she wasn't a butterfly trapped under a bell jar anymore. She was Morgause, High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, the very last of her kind. And she could face anything.<p>

She'd stolen a horse once again and, once again she'd stolen it from a dead man. But no-one would find Cenred's Stable Master; dagger plunged into his bloated stomach, until it was too late. Besides, Cenred owed her. He owed her considerably more than a horse but what else she'd claim from him was still a mystery to her.

Before her lay plains and plains of open grassland, an ocean of emerald for miles in every direction. But all the blonde witch could do was smile, she had no fear. This was her destiny she was heading towards. She felt it in every heartbeat. Tasted it in every breath of cold air. And destiny was no place for fear.

It was not magnificent like the Isle of the Blessed had been; there was no stained glass, no intricate carvings. But it was still more beautiful than Cenred's castle had ever been; magic and mystery seemed to haunt the bleak walls and crumbling towers. But, most of all, it was hers. Morgause's own castle. Her own home.

It had been a lucky find, of course. She'd heard Cenred's men talk about castles like this, inhabited by sorcerers in the time of the Old Religion, castles found beyond enchanted waterfalls, through harsh terrain, but allowed absolute secrecy when found. Morgause had stolen a map in desperate hope. It had paid off.

The execution block in the courtyard had surprised her, the blunt axe still leaning against the stone wall, ivy threatening to tie it there forever. The block was stained red still and she couldn't help but wonder which unfortunate soul had left this World at the stroke of the axe, the sound as it sliced the air the last thing they heard. A shiver ran down her spine, despite the heavy chain mail, as she stared at the block still. She never wanted to die by the blade. Never.

Before she had arrived, she had visited the Isle of the Blessed, once more. Salty tears had struck her chestnut orbs at the sight of the ruins, despite the ten years it had been. Dragons now haunted the ruins, remnants of Nimueh, the outcast Priestess, and her last stand on the Isle. The scorches on the stone had caused Morgause to grimace, but she continued in her search of the Isle. She had found it eventually, covered in ash covered black velvet in a dingy room. The crystals from when she was a child. She had spent hours studying them, in hope of a single prophecy. And then the visions she had seen before Ygraine and Vivian, of the young, blonde man and her half-sister, Morgana.

Now she knew exactly how to use the crystals. How to mutter the dark incantations to view inside Camelot's fortified citadel. To see everything that Uther Pendragon kept from the outside World. His deepest secrets, his darkest fears, were at her very fingertips.

She gazed inwards at the young man within her vision. His straw hair under a thin, golden crown, the bloody Pendragon crest on his back. A light whisper slipped from her mouth. 'Arthur Pendragon, the battle for your soul is only just beginning.'

Morgause continued to gaze as her view became that of the raven haired woman besides him, a soft smile on her painted lips yet a haunted look in her peridot eyes, as though struggling to stop herself from collapsing on the stone floor.

The blonde witch smirked as she tore her gaze away. Besides her, she reached for the sword at her feet. She was ready.

**Read and review guys :)  
><strong>

**Mike 3207- Thank you for reading still :) I thought she must have learnt to fight from Cenred, I doubt the Priestesses would have ever taught her, at least not to the high standard she was at  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**_Ok, so we've finally reached Camelot. Set during Series 2: Episode 8, The Sins of the Father. Enjoy!__  
><em>**

**Chapter 7**

It had been another long night. Dreams and nightmares seemed to chase each other around her mind, intermingling to form some sort of fantasy horror show, made just for her. Bursts of red, as ruby as blood, and flashes of the brightest gold exploded as a kaleidoscope under her eyelids, almost as soon as she closed them. Faces circled: her father, Arthur, Uther, Gwen, all becoming a strange blonde woman in a long brown cloak, handing Morgana a glittering blade as she lay down on a stone altar. And she watched helplessly as she raised the knife and brought it down with a piercing scream. It was only as she woke, heart pounding and throat sore, that she realised the screaming hadn't come from her dream.  
>Morgana sat up, attempting to take deep breaths through her panting. She wanted to shout for someone, anyone to talk through her dream with. But Gwen had gone home, Morgana wouldn't let her stay in the citadel after the fire incident months before, for she was dangerous it seemed, even when she was supposed to be most innocent. And besides, the dream had gone, faded quicker than breath on misty glass. But she couldn't sleep again now, for she knew it would only return, more terrifying than before.<p>

She climbed slowly out of bed, lowering her feet slowly onto the cold, stone floor, as if to prepare herself for its icy touch. Grabbing her purple cloak, she flung it over her shivering shoulders as she stood by the window, looking out through the clear glass. The night was still, the silence only broken by the occasional murmuring of the guards on patrol, their cloaks chestnut in the dim light. But there was something unearthly about how the golden dawn began to surface through the moonless sky, about the way the plants stood motionless, no wind to caress them. Something foreboding, as if everything were too quiet to last. Yet all this could instill in Morgana was a racing pulse and a growing, desperate need for escape.

* * *

><p>Arthur had known something was wrong. Even that morning, he realised, he had felt this moment arising like an ancient beast awakening beneath Camelot after a thousand years of sleep. He had sat awake for hours, watching the golden sunrise seep through the dark night like blood. At the time, he couldn't pinpoint what had woken him, but it must have been this; the overwhelming sense of danger, that he felt now. And the threat? The metal glove at his feet, thrown there carelessly by the figure before him, dressed entirely in chain mail, no cloak, no crest, no sense of identity.<p>

He bent to pick it up, out of duty, habit, more than anything. For he could not think of anyone who had quarrel with him to desire the challenge, and curiosity was just foolish.

'I accept your challenge. If I am to face you in combat, do me the courtesy of revealing your identity.'

They were brave words considering the quickening of his pulse as he contemplated who this mysterious force was.

A flurry of gold, like a tumble of coins from a treasure chest, as the figure pulled the helmet off. Large chestnut eyes set off with heavily darkened outlines.

'My name is Morgause.'

Morgana, stood behind Arthur, felt her heart stop as she met the stranger's gaze that passed over her, like a cold wave on the beach, rendering her completely open.

'Everyone leave,' Uther stammered, his mouth stumbling over the order. He soon regained his voice however, as his temper began to rise. 'Everyone leave! I need to talk to my son and council in private. Someone show Morgause to some chambers.'

* * *

><p>Morgause smirked as she inspected her chambers. They were large, considering what she'd been used to at Cenred's. She was surprised they let her stay in the citadel at all, in fairness, so close to the royals. Especially since she'd just challenged the Crown Prince to a fight to the death. Though she was still a guest, even if a surprising one.<p>

She knew exactly why Uther wanted to call a meeting of the council. He would want to find a law against her challenge, outlaw her for her sex, the nature of her arrival, her protected identity, anything to protect his precious son. And the beautiful thing? He would find nothing. For any challenge in Camelot was acceptable, any way for Knights and Kings alike to show off their superiority. And, in this, they had knotted their own noose and wrapped it around their own, helpless necks. In this, Uther offered his son up to slaughter with a knife forged in Camelot's own superiority. And all she could do was accept it with a smile.

But Morgana. She'd known her instantly, the wide, peridot eyes, the sleek raven hair. And she'd been more than the crystal had shown Morgause when she was a child. So, so much more.

* * *

><p>'You don't think he'll really fight Morgause, do you? I mean, no-one knows who she is, why would she challenge Arthur?' Gwen asked curiously as she folded a pile of Morgana's linen. 'And he can't fight a woman.'<p>

'Why not?' Morgana was sat at her mirror, unpinning her hair absent mindedly as she stared deep at the reflection facing her. She was the same as always, why didn't she feel it anymore?

'Well, Arthur could hurt her; he does have a clear advantage over her.' Gwen shrugged after a second or two of deep thought. Morgana turned on her stool to face her servant, a look of wonder on her face.

'Gwen, Morgause killed five guards just to get inside Camelot's walls and none of them even scratched her. You cannot underestimate her merely because she isn't Arthur,' Morgana reminded her, perhaps too passionately, for a dark look passed over Gwen's face.

'That's nothing good, though. She's just wicked, without morals, she had no more quarrel with those guards than she has with Arthur, yet she slaughtered them. Many people can reach Arthur without mercilessly killing people; there are tournaments for proving how good a swordsman you can be. Why did she not just enter one of those?' Gwen had stopped folding by this time, and was stood by the window, watching Merlin power through the courtyard, carrying Arthur's heavy armour in his arms. At Morgana's silence, Gwen tore her worried gaze from the window. 'My Lady?'

'I'm just not sure Morgause is only trying to prove her ability with a sword. I think there's something else,' the King's ward mused. 'What if she's proving a point to Uther?'

'What point could that woman...?'

'Morgause.'

Gwen nodded, attempting to control her irritated temper, at Morgana's correction of her. 'What point could Morgause be trying to make?'

'She could be showing him that women can fight too, show him how outdated Camelot really is. Women can't enter tournaments or become Knights, when we can be just as good as men, even better sometimes,' Morgana argued, joining Gwen by the window. 'Uther wouldn't have let me learn to fight if it were not for the 'rising threat of sorcery', as he sees it. But what if this is Morgause's point? It would make sense, would it not?'

'I'm not sure, My Lady.'

'There must be more to it than just fighting Arthur, surely?'

'It will hardly matter, Morgana.' Gwen shrugged, trying to dismiss the subject, sick of discussing such a morbid subject. 'I just hope Arthur will not kill her too brutally.'

'Who is to say Arthur's life won't rest in her hands?'

Sudden silence at Morgana's question. She stood, staring out of the window, a fiery gaze in her eyes. The courtyard had emptied with the setting sun, one lone figure stood on the cobbled ground, armour clad with long, golden curls. As the blonde warrior looked up, meeting Morgana's wide eyes, Morgana felt a shiver down her spine. A feeling she couldn't place, but had waited all her life to find.

'I feel as if I know her from somewhere.'

Gwen had returned to the linen. She looked up, surprised. 'Where would you know her from?'

'I don't know.' Morgana's eyes remained fixed on the blonde's sword strokes as she practiced, slashing the air as ruthlessly as she would to any enemy. Morgana couldn't help but be entranced.

'Morgana, you've unpinned your hair, haven't you?' Gwen called the raven headed woman, in an attempt to distill the atmosphere. Morgana turned at her name. 'Come; let me tighten it again before dinner.'

Morgana smiled, sitting herself at her dressing table once more, and let Gwen work at her hair. Yet she was silent, and Gwen worried what was passing through the ward's head, most notably about Camelot's surprise guest.

* * *

><p>A knock on the door. Morgause raised her head, suddenly alert, as a creature in the wild. Clutching her sword tightly, she crept to the wall behind the door, the cold metal in her hand proving a reassurance. She'd already had Arthur's servant visit her once, begging for her withdrawal. It had disappointed her. She'd been expecting Arthur to be a warrior, he was Camelot's most famous Knight, Uther's pride and joy, yet he was as cowardly as any man, it seemed. She'd say as cowardly as Cenred, but at least he killed any opponents while they slept, he would never offer safe passage as Arthur had done. In a way, it made him chivalrous. But it also made him weak.<p>

'Morgause.' An unfamiliar voice. She clutched the sword closer, raising the blade as a stalking lion prepares to pounce. The door began opening slowly and the young man who entered was met with a blade tip at his throat, in the tight grip of the blonde woman before him. He stepped back, arms raised. 'I am unarmed. I apologise for the intrusion, I have been sent by His Majesty, King Uther.'

She stared at him quizzically for a few seconds, truly seeing him through large, chestnut eyes, before she lowered the blade. 'I thought the King would want to talk to me himself. Isn't that what happens with these challenges?'

'I am afraid King Uther does not believe the challenge is serious, as you are...'

'A woman?' She narrowed her eyes at this, a look of anger passing across her face, her golden curls giving her the air of a lioness. Still, she relaxed unexpectedly, turning back into her room and pouring two glasses of water from a dented, steel jug on the wooden table behind her. 'Expected. So, I guess, you are here to set the terms of my challenge, instead?'

'Indeed, my name is Sir Leon.' He followed her, taking the glass from her outstretched arm, glancing down at the golden bracelet on her wrist, incongruous to the rest of her masculine dress. 'I am one of Uther's longest standing and most trusted knights.'

Of course he was. Morgause recognised the scarlet cloak draped around his shoulders, the golden dragon shimmering threateningly. Just the sight of it brought back the smoke that had enveloped her, choked her, as she had plunged the sword into the young Knight before her as she had searched the inferno desperately. And though she knew Leon before her could not have been one of the arsonists of her home, she couldn't prevent her blood from boiling as she met his eyes.

'And Uther's challenge then?'

'He cannot be easy on you.' Leon hesitated, pushing back his hair with his free hand as he spoke; it reminded Morgause of Cenred, curiously. 'It will be a fight to the death.'

'I am not asking for any lenience from anyone. I made this challenge based on a battle to the death, and that is what I expect.' Morgause was emotionless as she spoke, her voice unwavering. Leon couldn't help but be in awe, she was either one of the most confident swordsmen he'd ever met, or the stupidest for presuming she could beat Prince Arthur in combat. The man he had trained with for over five years, who dedicated at least two hours a day to training. Morgause had to be crazy.

'Very well.' Leon nodded. 'Uther has set the duel for mid morning, and it is to be a public affair.'

Morgause remembered the dark haired girl watching her from the window, the haunted look in her misty, green eyes. 'Very well. Tell Uther I accept his terms.'

She must be insane, that was Leon's thought as he left her chambers to report back to Uther. For no woman could ever defeat Arthur, surely? Though the fiery look in her chestnut orbs caused him to shiver every time he thought of them.

* * *

><p>Arthur could feel his heart pounding as his armour was fitted. Every piece that was strapped to his lean body seemed only to increase the pressure he could feel weighing down upon him, as if he were trapped at the bottom of the ocean, every piece of armour a new wave washing over him. He could feel Merlin jerkily adjusting his shoulder straps as he stared outside towards the arena he would later be in. In his head, he pictured every sword stroke, every step he would take, yet why did it bring him no comfort.<p>

The feeling of a smoothly adjusted shoulder strap attracted his attention.

'Morgana, where did you come from?' He turned to meet the brunette woman's gaze, her hands still outstretched from where she had been adjusting his armour. At her quizzical expression, he quickly explained, 'You sorted the strap out too well to be Merlin, he is still hopeless.'

'I have had a lot more practice than he has.' She motioned for him to turn again, and she continued applying his armour with swift movements. She was quiet, though; she would usually be mocking him for something, in her twisted way of showing she cared.

'You're silent, Morgana, are you nervous?' He asked solemnly, as she continued to work.

'I think that question would be better for you, Arthur, are you nervous?' Under her fingers, she felt his body shift uncomfortably, and she realised he had answered her question unconsciously. 'You will be careful, won't you, Arthur?'

He turned again, smirking slightly. 'Well, Morgana, I never knew you cared so much.'

She frowned, a delicate crease in her pale forehead. 'I just don't want...'

'To see me hurt?' The Prince teased, causing Morgana to smile mockingly, her eyes narrowed. 'Don't worry, Morgana, I've been trained since birth.'

'Yes, in being a complete prat, I presume?' She said dryly. 'I just know how easily I've beaten you in the past, I don't want you to let that put you off.'

'You think she'll beat me?' Arthur exclaimed. Picking up his sword, he spun it in his right hand and took his helmet with his free hand. As he headed out of the room, he called back to the ward as she stood alone, 'Don't worry, I'll prove you wrong.'

'Be careful!' The words escaped her crimson lips before she could stop them, and she realised, as she spoke, the only person in her mind was, not Arthur, but his challenger, whose golden curls and chestnut eyes seemed livid in her mind. And Morgana frowned.

* * *

><p>No-one had been expecting the duel that followed. With the sun beating down over the arena, and a gentle breeze if meant purposefully so the two opponents did not overheat in their heavy chain mail, the citizens of Camelot had witnessed Arthur, jewel of the Kingdom, beaten by an unknown woman. But none had been so surprised as the Lady Morgana, whose pounding heart and whitened knuckles as she clutched the wooden ledge before her caused her to sit breathless at the end of the duel. For she had wanted Arthur to win, of course she did, but her pulse quickened as she watched Morgause's sword strokes. Her breath had stopped when Arthur's sword caught the blonde guest's armour and the feeling caught in her throat as Morgause floored Arthur, someone as close to her as a brother, had confused her. She was loyal to Arthur, but something in her was drawn to this woman, in a way she had never been to anyone before as though she were a mere moth drawn to a blinding light. And it scared her.<p>

* * *

><p>'Her victory was perfectly acceptable, my Lord, there is nothing to say she acted unlawfully.'<br>Yet Gaius knew his words were in vain for Uther continued to burst into the empty Great Hall, flinging open the wooden doors as though they were struck by a tempest. The King had stormed from the arena after Morgause had claimed her victory, his voice sharp with rage. As he heard Gaius speak, he spun round, the light from the window illuminating his manic face. A leather glove covered finger was pointed menacingly.

'There is no way, Gaius, that Arthur was fairly beaten today. Not just by another competitor, an unknown competitor, but by a woman? It is impossible. He has been trained since birth. If she had not, for whatever reason she chose, spared his life, where would we be?' He spoke lowly, which was always when he was at his most threatening.

'I am not saying that Morgause did not have an advantage in battle, my Lord. She is a woman and Arthur no doubt struggled to fight her as he would a normal opponent. But she did nothing unlawful, that I can tell,' the physician explained, seeing a look of relief pass over Uther's face as he spoke, as though Arthur's defeat had caused the King a physical pain.

'Yes, that must be it. Arthur has only ever mock dueled with Morgana. It disadvantaged him, he is too chivalrous.' Uther nodded, lowering himself slowly into his throne. He was getting old, Gaius could see, and he was relying more on Arthur proving himself as a worthy heir to the throne. Failures such as today's were not helping him. Uther gestured to the guards at the door. 'Bring me Morgause!'

Her victory against Arthur had shocked even her. She had been expecting to win, but at the hand of sorcery. Yet it seemed Arthur was stupider than she'd heard, allowing her to retrieve her sword had been his downfall. She wanted to laugh at the irony, the son of Uther, the King who had claimed Camelot only by force, had become a trophy Knight, moulded by ideals he would never need and that would, eventually, kill him. And, as she was called into the Great Hall, where she'd made her first dramatic appearance, her stride had a new pace, one of lawful victory.

'Morgause.' Uther's voice was cold, cold enough for Morgause to feel the icicles dripping from his speech. 'You are victorious.'

'Thank you, my Lord.' She stood solemnly, yet she could feel the hatred bubbling in her stomach, as though an ancient potion concocted by an evil witch. Which, she supposed, was her. Though looking into Uther's pale eyes, she didn't feel the most evil person in that Hall.

'You didn't kill my son,' Uther stated. 'Which I thought was the point of a fight to the death. And so I ask, to what purpose was this challenge for?'

'I meant only to prove myself, my Lord.'

'Aren't there tournaments for that?'

'Tournaments in which women are prohibited from entering, yes.'

Uther's eyes narrowed as she spoke, her words striking into him, as though each were a needle's point. 'I presume you will be leaving Camelot today?'

She was about to speak, her lips parted, when Gaius raised a wrinkled hand slowly.

'My Lord, Morgause is injured. If you permit it, I will tend her wound and she can leave tomorrow morn, instead,' he said, directing Uther's attention to the rusty blood stain leaking through the blonde woman's chain mail.

'But, of course.' Uther shrugged, waving his hand lazily in a dismissal. Morgause gave a stiff bow, throwing the old physician a confused glance, and she stormed from the Great Hall, taking her aggression, directed at Camelot's weak King, out on the cracked stone flooring.

* * *

><p>The ebony haired woman stood nervously outside the chamber door before her. She knew what the cool wood would feel like to her hands as she pushed the door open, she knew how heavy the door would be against her palms. Yet, she couldn't do it. Something in her, the same part of her that had encouraged this reckless journey now prevented her from taking a further step forward. But as she remembered the purpose of her visit, the golden Knight who had emerged victorious that morning, she found her own hands pushing open the door, and her own feet carrying her inside.<p>

It was empty. Morgana couldn't decide whether to be disappointed or grateful for Morgause's absence. She had wanted to meet her, surely? And she certainly had no trouble in asserting herself over many of Camelot's other visitors. Indeed, she excelled in the tournament season. But this one was different. She couldn't imagine Morgause finding anything interesting in her, simple ward of Camelot. She had no battle stories, no accounts of bravery to tell. Her World revolved around Uther's World, as though she were merely a satellite in the night sky over Camelot. No. She couldn't do this. She had to leave before Morgause returned. She had to.

It was at this moment, the blonde warrior appeared from behind the curtains in the corner of the room, obviously oblivious to Morgana's presence. She had removed her armour, now only dressed in tight fitted black trousers and a thin white shirt. Through the almost translucent material, Morgana could clearly make out the tight bandages that had been used to bind Morgause's breasts for the duel. Though why she was looking there, she couldn't fathom. Increasingly, the silence between them was filling the room, like a swirling fog, and Morgause's stare made it increasingly apparent she was not going to break this moment.

'I didn't mean to intrude, I wanted to introduce myself. I'm the Lady Morgana.' Her voice was quiet, verging on a whisper.

'I know who you are.' Morgause stepped closer, attempting to restrain herself from getting too close to the raven haired ward of Camelot. Her half-sister. She could hardly remember the Lady Vivian; it had been so long ago, as hard as she'd tried to recount the memory. But she knew she had been dark, and beautiful, she wondered whether the girl before her knew her resemblance to her late mother. She doubted it.

'How's your arm? You were wounded.' She was softly spoken, it surprised Morgause. She had always been expecting someone like herself, yet this woman seemed so alien. Yet, so much more perfect than she'd ever wanted.

'It will heal, in time.' She stepped closer, she could no longer resist. It felt as if she were a mere piece of metal trying to resist the pull of a magnet. With every step, she felt herself studying the woman's face closer, as she would study an ancient scroll, with all the wonder of a new find. 'You look tired.'

Morgana's back was straight, almost rigid, as the blonde Knight stepped closer to her. There was something in this woman that cared little for typical court rules, although she must have surely known them. She did not seem to label Morgana as the King's ward, but merely some object, open to fascination and scrutiny alike. And all this did was cause Morgana's pulse to race quicker as her red lips parted to speak. 'I haven't been sleeping.'

'I know for myself how troubling that can be.'

And, again, the choking silence. Morgana felt herself making a passing remark, anything to keep her in the room with this woman. Something to do with the incongruous bracelet that hung off the blonde's wrist, glinting in the sunlight streaming from the windows. She did not expect the response. She certainly did not expect Morgause to hold out the bracelet to her, a gift to help her sleep.

'I must let you rest.' She was stammering, the bracelet still held out to her, hanging between the two women as some physical reminder of all that stood between them. But she could stay in the room no further, not without giving herself away. For she feared she would, she was struggling to contain herself now, like a pot that was going to overflow, if only stirred by the right person.

'I hope you will remember me fondly.' The ebony haired woman turned back around to see the crumbling of Morgause's facade. She was no longer a brave warrior, sword in her hand, but a woman still clutching the bracelet, desperation in her chestnut eyes. She wanted to help her, to turn back and take the bracelet and sweep the blonde into her arms. But no. She nodded, frightened at her own feelings, and hurried from the room, a heart beating a tornado beneath her rib cage.

* * *

><p>Morgause couldn't fathom where her plan had failed. Yet as she stared deeper into the crystal, it clearly had. For Arthur stood not over his father's mutilated corpse, bloody sword in hand, but sat at his side, both laughing in unison. The blonde scowled, resisting the temptation to smash the crystal to the ground in frustration, and instead turned her back to the glowing white object. After all she had done, after everything she tried. She had told Arthur about his Mother's visits to the Isle of the Blessed, her desperation for a child that had grown so deep she even clung to the young Morgause. She played the sympathy act, bringing in the massacre of her whole community of Priestesses. And she had eventually shown Arthur his mother, magic so complex it had weakened her for days following. But she had assumed it would be for good purpose, and she would wake revitalised to a World no longer trapped under Uther's iron clutches. But no. Arthur was weak, just as his father was. The great destiny written in the prophecies was false. There would be no Albion under Arthur. And Morgause would be the one to make sure.<p>

**Thank you everyone for continuing to read and always commenting, I'm aware some of these chapters are ridiculously long :)**

**Olivia Jayne: Thank you so much, I just hope they continue to entertain you :)  
><strong>

**Mike3207: I've tried to do it justice, though I am trying to avoid Wikipedia, the original story was good but a bit crazy (everyone was related!). I hope it didn't put you off too much :)  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**_Series 2 Ep12: The Fires of Idirsholas_  
><strong>

**Chapter 8**

Despite the Summer heat that lingered in the stifling air, like some overwhelming perfume, a cold breeze seemed to inhabit the ancient walls of the castle. Shadows danced on the cracked floor, as if reflections of hidden demons lurking in the dark corners of the crumbling architecture. It was enough to make anyone nervous.

Yet the blonde witch entered the room, once the castle's Great Hall, although the state of decay made it almost impossible to tell, with a casual confidence. The dark did not intimidate her, if anything it was where she seemed to thrive. Never in the blinding spotlight, but just off to the side, where expectations were lower but success was higher. Though moments like that was when she needed to remind herself who she was. The last High Priestess. If that was not a blinding spotlight, then one did not exist. Still, she continued, her scarlet, silken train behind her like a bridal gown. For wasn't this the day she would be married to her destiny? For better or for worse, she would be tied to this path for the rest of her life. Or so she hoped.

The words of the Old Religion slithered from her lips as though serpents, seeming to writhe in mid-air around her as the musty scent of the rotting Hall became replaced with the overwhelming aroma of magic. With every word, her body was filled the new found strength of sorcery. It delighted her, a smile creeping over her otherwise sombre face as she circled the objects of her attention. As the last of her spell hung in the air around her, she stopped and waited for the reward of her magic.

Nothing. Her heart was pounding like a galley drum within her chest. Then, simultaneously, the twelve figures surrounding her raised their heads. She had not been scared until that moment. As a child, she remembered being told the story of the Knights of Medhir, the twelve Knights seduced and enchanted by a sorceress to become her own army against the crimes committed by the Kings of old. She remembered Taegan's cautionary approach to the tale, the warning she would always put at the end: never to misuse magic, or she would justify Uther's violent campaign against sorcerers. And she remembered her bright promise to never use magic for evil, only ever for good as Taegan and the Priestesses had. Though that had been years before the massacre of the Isle of the Blessed, before Cenred, before Morgana. Surely, now, she could use magic for more than just healing? Though, looking at the Knights before her, she wasn't sure.

They were dark, not just in the old armour, but in their faces. If they had faces, of course, she really could not tell. She'd expected to see eyes, at the very least. But no, there was no sign of life. Though, the blonde supposed, they were not alive. They had been once, they had once been men, who drank and fought. Now they were just enchanted corpses. Maybe it was that that ignited the fear within her.

But, they were hers now. And that caused a wide smile to spread across her face, illuminated by the flickering light from the flame torches.

* * *

><p>Her immediate feeling was one of chill, a lightly cold breeze sweeping over her arms, sending a shiver over her. It may be Summer, yet Camelot was never warm, especially in the airy citadel, and Gwen had soon learnt never to open the windows of the ward's chambers. So, why forget today?<p>

Morgana crossed quickly over to the open window, the curtains flapping in the mild wind, her servant's carelessness all that was on her mind. But a glint of silver, caught in the sun's burning rays, suddenly distracted her. From the window, her slim hand lowered to run over the unknown object. A small, glittering box, carved with intricate design, too intricate to have been designed by anyone other than a professional hand. Yet, as her fingers danced over the surface, she felt an energy beneath her fingertips, something that caused her heart to jump a beat and merely heightened her curiosity. She could no longer resist. Gently lifting the lid off the box, she was met with the strangest sight. For some reason, Morgana had been expecting jewellery, some new trinket from Uther, just as he used to leave her gifts when she was a child. But, no, it was only a tiny roll of parchment. Trying to fight the growing feeling of disappointment in her stomach, she pulled the ribbon off the paper between her fingers, and felt her pulse beat double time from the first three words:

_My Dearest Morgana_

And she knew instantly who the note was from. For the box was as delicate as the bracelet that sat neatly on her wrist, her surprise gift, and the cursive writing was as beautiful and elusive as the female warrior herself. As the ebony haired woman continued to read, she could not help but let a smile rest upon her crimson lips, for it was as though she could see Morgause before her, speaking the words to her, staring at her with deep, chestnut eyes. Yet, what Morgause was asking of her...

'Are you ok, Morgana?'

Morgana stopped, paper still in hand, at the sound of Gwen's, almost intrusive, voice. She shut the message back in the trinket box, desperately attempting to steady herself, despite her rapid pulse and the burning curiosity in the pit of her stomach.

'Yes, just a little cold.'

* * *

><p>The night sky hung over Camelot like a net, the occasional stars like fireflies tangled in the dark. And Morgana left the citadel, cloaked in this midnight, with only her healing bracelet on her wrist and the parchment tucked by her breast, next to her heart that was pounding so hard she feared it would wake the whole of Camelot, for reassurance. As her feet trod the dirty streets, she felt shadows down the city's empty alleys, a million eyes watching her treachery. Yet, her feet continued, a hand merely pulling her hood further over her face. For this path was finally one of her own choosing, and nothing would deter her.<p>

* * *

><p>Morgause regretted her treachery the second it was committed. But, it was the only way to ensure both her and Morgana's safety in Camelot. For the Knights of Medhir were ruthless and would distinguish not between the meaningless citizens of the citadel's walls, and the only one who held any part of Morgause. For it was true, as she caught the ebony haired woman in her arms as she fell, unconscious from the second the blonde's eyes had flashed gold, Morgause could feel nothing but an urge to hold Morgana there forever.<p>

She'd left the note in a moment of sheer, desperate stupidity. For, had anyone but Morgana found that, it would have surely meant death for the pair of them. Yet, she remembered the pained look in the girl's peridot eyes as she'd watched Morgause practise in the courtyard, the rapid pulse in her neck as she'd visited the blonde warrior's chambers. And she knew she could never have forgotten her. But what she'd have done if Morgana had not shown that night, she could not fathom. For there was a part in her that would have abandoned everything, called off the Knights, and gone, vanished into the night like a spectre. She felt a twinge in her stomach at the thought, she would abandon everything Taegan had promised her to fight for, for the sake of this one woman. And then she recalled the sudden rush of joy she'd felt at Morgana's promise of alliance, and she realised she would do anything, just for her.

She lowered her sleeping figure slowly onto the middy ground and, eyes flashing gold while the Old Religion tumbled from her tongue, she began to circle the ward. She forced herself not to think of the danger she was putting the girl into, only the benefits they would both share when the battle was won. When the source of both of their hatred was dead, and the icy fist that enclosed Camelot's walls was gone, then neither of them need ever live in fear again. And that, Morgause felt, was worth the risk she was placing on Morgana's life.

* * *

><p>Her wrist seemed to tingle the next morning, rousing her from her slumber. Not in a painful way, like it sometimes did when she got cramp in her hand from too much writing, but as though someone was holding it tightly, and all her cells were jumping at the touch. But that couldn't be it, surely, for who had been holding her that closely?<p>

Morgana sat up suddenly, she was in Camelot, in her own, four poster bed. Her hand flew to her breast, to find she was dressed in her silken nightgown, and the sheet of parchment was gone. No, it couldn't have just been a dream. Her feet light on the ground as she escaped Camelot's walls, emerald cloak tight around her shoulders. Morgause a vision in her crimson dress, her seductive, serpent's words of destiny and treason. Morgana's heart threatening to break from its bony cage as she handed her loyalty to the blonde stranger. That was all just her dream? Her inner desire? Yet, somehow, she could still feel the caress of long, slender fingers on her cheek. And she blushed.

'Good morning, my Lady.' Morgana raised her peridot gaze to see Gwen enter her chambers, a slightly bleary look across her face. 'Did you sleep well?'

'I'm not sure,' The ward answered, a light frown creasing her forehead. 'Better than you, it seems.'  
>A red tint appeared across Gwen's face at Morgana's reference to her constant yawning that morning. She attempted to swallow it down, causing a sudden lightness in her head. The maid resisted the urge to grab at something, she couldn't let herself be so unprofessional, not in front of Morgana.<p>

'I'm sorry, I'll be ok.'

'You need to rest, Gwen.' Morgana noted Gwen's vacant eyes, and smiled slightly, trying to be a comfort. 'I'm sure anything you have to do can wait until tomorrow.'

Gwen nodded, stifling a yawn with a clammy hand. As her yellow gown swept from the room, Morgana felt herself unconsciously biting her lip, an action she used to do as a child to comfort herself. Her father had told her if she ever needed to wake herself from her nightmares, something she had always struggled with, to bite her lip and the pain would shock her back to life. The action had crept into her waking life, though, as the young Morgana began using it in any situation she felt helpless in. A reminder of her father, she'd always thought. Until Uther had told her to stop the ridiculous move, no Royal Ward could pull such a common and vulgar action before others. But so many things; Morgause, Gwen's sudden illness, the rumours of the resurrection of the Knights of Medhir, were convincing the raven haired girl that she really was in a nightmare still. And she needed desperately to wake.

* * *

><p>'Lady Morgana, this is a surprise.' Geoffrey sat up a little straighter at his desk as the Royal ward entered the library cautiously, her emerald dress highlighting her wide, peridot eyes as they surveyed the dusty bookshelves around her. She had the appearance of a wild creature that had suddenly been caught alone in a clearing. It stirred some form of sympathy within the man's heart. 'What do you seek, my Lady?'<p>

She looked at him suddenly, as if only just aware of his presence. Around her wrist, a thick bracelet hung like some form of decoration. Geoffrey could swear he recognised the pattern that circled the golden band, silver entwined like two snakes. Some form of family crest, a seal, maybe her father's? Though, of course, without a closer look, he'd never know. Morgana was still taking small steps into the room as her studied her trinket, but her body stiff as though wary of something. The librarian felt himself yawn.

Morgana couldn't have noticed, however, as she continued to walk through the library, peering down the rows of shelves. Eventually, she stopped and stood by Geoffrey's desk.

'What are you looking for, Lady Morgana?' He smiled, and was repaid by a slight twitching of her lips, and her wooden figure seemed to relax slightly.

'I don't know. I wanted to know if, maybe, you had anything on the Knights of Medhir...' She asked quietly, her teeth seemingly chewing on her bottom lip uneasily.

He frowned. 'My Lady, that is but folklore.'

'You must have heard the rumours, and now Arthur has gone...'

'You are worried?' Geoffrey asked, seeing the pained look in the girl's eyes. She gave a small nod, lowering her head and he took a deep breath, he was not good at helping anyone, not when it did not involve books, especially the Lady Morgana, whom he had never had a conversation this long before with. Besides, his head was beginning to pound like a war drum. 'Let me help you. Uther burnt most of the books containing anything relating to the Old Religion, but I'm sure there must be something left.'

'Thank you.' Morgana smiled, offering an arm to the ageing man to help him up. He leant heavily on her, which she bore through gritted teeth. Anything to help ease her worried mind, spinning like a child's toy.  
>Geoffrey led the girl slowly down the bookshelves, his head still throbbing. Yet now, as he attempted his search, he could not help but watch the sights before him blur. Black and blue seemed to merge, golden lettering swirling amongst the kaleidoscope colours, as if trapped in a blinding, insane nightmare. He took tentative steps forward, putting a hand to his head as he did so, in some form of desperate attempt to control the drumming that had begun. If only he could sleep...<p>

'Are you alright?' Morgana had slipped her arm away from his, leaving him staggering to one side, falling into one of the bookcases, causing books to fall around him and land at his feet. He hadn't quite realised how much he had been relying on Morgana's support. The ward's peridot eyes were wide in fear as she watched the man before her stagger towards her, face pale.

'My Lady. Morgana,' he whispered, but his voice came out more as a strangled breath as he attempted to force his eyes to remain open. But it was too much, he was too old to fight the desire any longer. Within seconds, he had fallen from his leaning position against the bookcase, collapsing on the stone floor with a sudden, sickening thud.

Morgana stood, paralysed to her spot, her breath ragged as her brain attempted to process what her eyes has just seen. He had been stood there, only moments before, he had been talking to her. Now, he was just lying there. Wait, what was she doing? He could be dying, and she was stood there, doing nothing. Carefully, she knelt to the ground, pressing fingers hard to his wrinkled neck. A slow pulse. Then he was, what? Sleeping? So suddenly, though? She was fighting back the urge to scream, out of fear or frustration or pure fury at being so hopeless. She needed to find Gaius. That was it, she needed Gaius.

Her tanned boots seemed to pound with her every step, the echo of the heel against the cracked stone floor, cracking it further as she left the library. It would take her roughly ten minutes to reach Gaius' study, was that too long? Maybe she ought to run, though that would attract attention. The King's ward running through the citadel, nobody had seen that since she was a young child. But attention is what she needed, for a man's breath could be leaving his body, any help to keep him alive would be welcome.

'No!' She couldn't help the shout leaving her mouth as she turned the corner into the main corridor running past the Great Hall. But, it couldn't be the Great Hall. Not in her Camelot. Morgana must be dreaming, despite the golden charm that enveloped her wrist, for all along the corridor lay bodies. Bodies of guards, of servants, just littering the cold floor. But there were no injuries. Morgana had seen battlefields before, she'd seen the dying men with blood dripping from open wounds in their chests, faces paling as they clutched at their mutilated forms. The first time, it had made her sick, physically sick on the blood soaked grass. But, then, it had not shocked her again. Not until now. For this must be a battleground. Bodies lying strewn at her feet, arms outstretched as if to catch their falling bodies. But, instead, they lay crushed under their collapsed figures. For she had been wrong, there were injuries. But they were not inflicted by a glittering blade, wielded by an enemy, but by the stone floor, cracking heads of those fallen. Yes, this was a battlefield. Which meant somewhere, maybe even within Camelot's walls themselves, an enemy must be lurking. And Morgana ran.

Heels pounding hard on the floor, one hand desperately trying to keep her dress from tangling under her feet, the ebony haired woman made her way through Camelot's labyrinth of corridors. Everywhere she turned, bodies lay on the ground. Courtiers, Knights, servants alike lay collapsed, sleeping like in some form of twisted fairytale. And she seemed to be playing the helpless Princess, waiting for the daring Hero to rescue her from the carnage that lay at her feet. She had only one place she could go.

'Gwen! Gwen!' Morgana pushed the wooden door open, almost off its hinges, in her terrified haste to get into her chambers. 'Tell me you're ok, Gwen.'

But the servant's body lay slumped on the floor, eyes closed in deep slumber. Morgana felt her throat closing in fear, the pounding of her own heart the only sound she could hear. This was not real. This could not be real. And, whether her imagination or not, she could hear footsteps, echoing footsteps prowling the corridors of the citadel. Predatory footsteps and she'd trapped herself like a wild deer. She had but one option. Morgana hid in the curtains.

* * *

><p>The kingdom was within her grasp now, Morgause thought as she led her Knights through Camelot's lower town, and it inspired nothing but pure, unadulterated glee within her. Around her, in the cobbled streets, sleeping bodies lay like corpses. Which, unfortunately, a few of them became under the hooves of the Knights of Medhir. But, enchanted men could distinguish not between the sleeping and the dead, and Morgause convinced herself it did not matter. For revolution requires sacrifice, surely? Yet, as she dismounted outside the heavy wooden doors of the inner citadel, she could not shake the feeling that she was, now, no better than the wretches that had attacked her home, and killed the closest thing she had ever had to a family. It was a feeling that filled her with terrifying power. But it made her detest her own being, nearly forcing her to turn around and ride away, leave Uther to his tyranny, for she was no invader. No, for this was not an act of cruelty, stemming from nothing more than mindless hate. This was her destiny, to return magic to Camelot, to save her sister, trapped in Uther's chains of persecution and fear. And, with this in mind, she drew her sword.<p>

* * *

><p>The blonde warrior growled furiously at the sight before her. A young, fair man, sword in hand, battling the Knights of Medhir. His face was pale, clammy, but it did not excuse her failing. There was supposed to be no resistance, no defence. An easy victory for Morgause. Yet, Prince Arthur Pendragon still stood strong, his blade gleaming sinisterly, despite the weary look in his pale eyes. He stood outside the Great Hall and, following her search of the citadel, she could only assume he had both King Uther and Morgana in there for protection. Which meant it was her hell-bent determined goal to get into the Hall.<p>

She stopped. A sudden pain in her throat. No, more than a pain, she felt as though her throat was closing in on itself. Morgause raised her free hand to her throat, feeling it slightly for anything that would explain this sudden feeling. But there was no inflammation, nothing. The realisation hit her as her hand reached her throat. It was not her pain, it was not her throat closing in like some ancient, spring trapped room. Her nerves were not sending these pounding pulses. In which case, there was only explanation. Chestnut eyes wide with furious fire, Morgause felt herself charge forward, past the pale Prince, and burst through the wooden doors to the Great Hall.

It was as she'd feared. The blonde priestess flung herself to the floor, sending a sharp pain to go rocketing through her knees, which she ignored to take the limp figure tightly into her arms from the stone floor. Before her, Arthur's manservant backed away from this unexpected arrival, but Morgause could focus on nothing but the inert body of the Lady Morgana that she held so closely.

'What has he done to you?' She whispered, almost cooing to the woman in her arms, in a desperate bid for a reaction. She could see breath, Morgana's chest rising and falling faintly, but she could feel the effort this was taking, as the girl's collapsed figure shook with every breath. Her face, naturally pale, had more appearance of a ghost than a living being, the usual milky complexion now had a translucent edge that caused Morgause to only hold her closer. The blonde frowned and looked up from her sister to direct her gaze primarily on the servant before her. 'You poisoned her.'

'You gave me no choice.' His harsh words, despite his tear stained eyes, still cut fiercely into Morgause's usual wooden heart, like an axe to an oak.

'Tell me what you used and I can save her.' She must have sounded desperate, and in that Morgause hated herself, but she had no choice. Clinging to her sister's body, she felt as helpless as she had done all those years ago, as she watched her friend and protector die at the hands of Camelot's murderous Knights. At least then, though, she had the comforting cold feeling of a blade in her palm. Now, she had nothing.

But, she did not expect the following words from the serving boy before her. 'First, you must stop the attack.'

Morgause looked up, a black fire dancing in her dark eyes. 'You're nothing but a simple servant, you don't tell me what to do.'

'If you want to know what poison it is, you must undo the magic that drives the knights.' Merlin felt himself breathing deeply as he spoke, in a desperate attempt to control his racing heartbeat. He could not understand why this woman, this witch, seemed so determined to save Morgana. They were allies, of course, but why? Still, it did not matter, for he felt himself bargaining with the devil as he spoke, the fury in the blonde's eyes.

'Tell me what it is, or you'll die.'

'But she'll die with me.'

Morgause stopped suddenly, all anger vanishing from her wide, chestnut eyes as she looked back down at the ragdoll girl in her arms. She felt a tear slip silently down her cheek as she pulled the girl closer into her, barely able to resist the urge to place her lips upon the girl's forehead, placing her forehead there instead.

'I don't want this anymore than you, but you have me no choice. Stop the knights and you can save her.' The boy was speaking, and she looked up at him with tear blurred vision. But she knew what she had to do already. This kingdom could be hers, the Knights of Medhir still hers to control and could slaughter all who stood in her way to glory. Yet, she had been in this position before; sat weeping over the corpse of her friend, mentor and the closest thing she could ever have to a real mother. And she could not allow herself to risk that again.

The magic left her mouth, not as a friend, but forced, frozen words that she felt stab her gut with every syllable. Everything she had planned, collapsed. But as the boy held out his hand, and she read the deathly bottle, the cruel cursive letters 'Hemlock', she knew she had done only what was necessary.

Behind her, a male voice. The Prince. 'Morgana'

'Keep away from her.' Morgause felt herself snarl, snapping like some vicious snake, finger pointed as if it were a flickering, forked tongue. A real villain.

But she had no time. No time to defend herself from those approaching, instead uttering dark words in foreign tongue, and vanishing with Camelot's prized ward wrapped in her chain mail clad arms, leaving nothing but dust in her wake.

* * *

><p>Hemlock. Hemlock. She remembered picking the deadly plant during her time on the Isle of the Blessed, for Taegan's apothecary. The plant could be used for good, for medicinal purposes. Or used for evil, to steal the very breath from an enemy's mouth and the very beat of their heart. Morgana had under five minutes of life left and, as Morgause felt the grassy slope outside of her castle materialise under her feet, she realised it might not be long enough. She murmured the magic under her breath and as she carried the girl's limp form into the castle, her pace hurried. The fitting would begin, Morgana's body fighting in vain for its remaining life, when she had only two minutes left. That gave Morgause three minutes. Three minutes of desperate sorcery, of the pounding of her rough heels along the stone corridors, of carefully crafted racing up uneven stairs, Morgana's body awkward in her arms. To find it was not long enough. Her sister's body began jerking convulsively as she held her, head twitching, a splatter of blood as the girl's jaw clamped down on her tongue. No. No. Morgause carried on, despite the struggling body in her arms. Her chanting was getting faster and louder, her eyes flashing manically gold, her tears falling rapidly onto Morgana's sagging head. Her words echoed threateningly in the cold air, like from some empty cavern.<p>

She finally found where she was looking for, her own chambers. Hurried, she placed the girl on her bed, the moss green of Morgana's dress clashing with the red silk cover. And she spoke faster, stronger. Never before had she felt her magic so weak, had she had to work so hard for anything. But this, this made her feel more powerless than she had ever felt before for, if her magic failed her, if Morgana's heart should still forever, she would lose everything she had worked for.

Yet, hope. Morgause watched in joy as her sister's body began to slow, her fit falling under control, as Morgause continued to whisper her ancient tongue. The body, that had been writhing as a fish caught on a line, had calmed, her pulse slowing as her chest began to rhythmically rise and fall. Blood still dripped slowly down her chin, but she was in no more danger. She would sleep, and that was all Morgause could do for her.

Then, almost as silently as the ebony haired girl on the bed, Morgause pulled a wooden chair from her desk to the bedside and sat there, clutching one of Morgana's limp. hands, long into the night.

**Thank you everyone for your comments, reviews always make me smile :)**

**EightNine: Thank you! I do get worried about the lenth of some of these chapters, this one is HUGE! I hope you continue to enjoy  
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**Mike3207: Hmm...that is an awfully good point, I suppose they were never going to get along though. And many of Morgause's plans are rather far-fetched, or they'd just be boring, I suppose. But, maybe an alliance would have been nice  
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**OliviaJayne: Thank you, I was looking forward to describing their relationship. I hope you continue to enjoy :)  
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	9. Chapter 9

_**OK, so we're past Series 2, this is the beginning of the year inbetween Series 2 and Series 3. Please enjoy!**_

_****_**Chapter 9  
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Knights patrolling the corridors like ferocious felines, awaiting their prey. A sword swung down at her as she sits, huddled, on the stone floor, praying desperately for mercy. Her prayer answered as the sword stops mid-air. Merlin, her friend, someone she thought she was close to, passing her a flask of water, telling her to drink. Then the sinking realisation as the water catches in her throat, choking her, killing her, that Merlin had poisoned her. And it felt like the World around her cracked just as her dying breath was leaving her body.

She woke panting. Morgana's eyes flickered open slowly, the peridot orbs large in fear. Dark circles surrounded them, as though she had not slept for weeks, though the last night's sleep had been the deepest she had ever had. Her body was covered in sweat, and she felt the sheets sticky against her. Through half awake eyes, she could see the dawn breaking, the room filled with the palest pink light. Which was strange, because Gwen never opened the curtains this early. Morgana frowned.

'Gwen. Gwen.' She tried to call, but her voice came out more of a whisper than a shout. She put a hand to her throat, an immediate reaction to the sharp, dry pain of speaking. A sweet yet dirty aroma hung in the air that reminded her of something, some part of Camelot. But why? She needed a drink, water, wine, anything, to take away what felt like spikes in the back of her throat. With one hand, one shaking hand she noted, she lifted her body up to a sitting position. It was then she realised she was not alone.  
>Golden hair, glinting chain mail. Arthur? No, long, golden curls falling over the face, blocking any details, but Morgana could recognise them anywhere. Morgause. But, what was she doing here? So openly, as well? Morgana stopped as she felt herself take in the rest of the room. These were not her chambers. The walls were dark, cold despite the light from the breaking dawn. Red silk hung in places, next to blood stained weapons. A large ornate mirror sat on a dressing table accompanied by ancient, leather bound books. And this woman, this female warrior, sat on a plain, wooden chair beside the bed, as though she had been there if only to keep watch on Morgana.<p>

She stirred, lifting her head from its slumped position. Morgana froze as Morgause sat up straight, bleary eyed, locks of stray hair still hanging over her face. Then, her chestnut orbs widened as she looked up at the girl in the bed, who was still, almost paralysed, in fear.

'Morgana, you're awake.' Morgause reached out a hand, to take Morgana's, only to see her withdraw them under her bedcovers, and she smiled instead. 'I was so worried for you.'

The ebony haired girl attempted to reply, but could only cough and make a raspy noise, as though from one who was taking their last gasp of air. At this, she shrank away, trying to submerge herself back under her covers, in a desperate attempt to wake from the nightmare she must be living.

'Morgana.' The blonde stood up, putting the back of her hand against her sister's forehead. 'You're burning up. I was worried in the night; you were so hot, just tossing and turning. I sat all night with you, just to make sure you would be alright.' She smiled once again, and Morgana felt her worries ease slightly with this. At the sight of the girl's slight relaxation, Morgause turned, taking a dented, metal goblet from a low table and passing it to her sister. 'Drink this, it'll cool you. And it should rid you of the pain in your throat. Oil your voice.'

She took the goblet, her hand still shaking. But all she could remember was the cold stream of water passing down her throat as she looked up at Merlin, then the sudden choking sensation and the stab of betrayal. Something in her face must have given her away, for Morgause sat on the bedside, reaching a hand to tuck a loose lock of raven hair behind Morgana's ear, ignoring her slight flinch.

'It's quite safe, Morgana. I promise. I saved you; it would be nonsense to poison you now.'

And, in one crazy, yet completely trusting move, she drank. And, Morgause had been right. The water was not cold, but it had probably been sat there since yesterday, if Morgause's story rang true, yet it was welcome still. And, indeed, it cleared her dry throat, replenishing it as if it were rain on famine ridden soil.

'You saved me?' She sounded like a lost child, all full of shock and wonder. She hated it.

'Of course.' Morgause frowned. 'Do you not remember?'

'Where am I?' Morgana's voice was stronger now, she sounded older, more as Uther had taught her to be around people. To demand respect. Instantly, however, she could see a pained look shoot across the blonde's face and she regretted it.

'This is where I live.' Morgana noted she did not say 'home'. She wondered if there was anywhere this woman could ever call home. 'I had to bring you here, to save your life. We swore allegiance; I could not let you die.'

Morgana frowned, creasing her porcelain forehead. 'You stormed Camelot, with the Knights of Medhir. You're a witch.'

'I'm a sorceress. The last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess. You know I am no witch, Morgana.'

A guilty look spread across her face. 'I am sorry. Uther ensured I was taught the dangers of sorcery.'

'And yet you possess magic, Morgana.'

She stopped; face paling further, until she resembled little more than a spectre. 'You cannot know that.'

'Morgana, you need fear nothing. Magic is no curse, it is a gift.' Morgause took one of her shaking hands that she had removed from under the bedcovers, reveling in the girl's slim fingers and smooth skin. She spoke quickly, a World away from the calm figure that had made her way into Camelot for that first time. She was nervous, or excitable. 'I was told you might have magic a very long time ago, by someone I was once very close to. But you confirmed it when you joined the Druids, months ago. The Druids are peaceful, they do not kidnap. Thus, you must have joined them yourself, because you were scared of your magic.'

She had been following her movements, Morgana realised, keeping track of her. With that, she fell silent, still feeling Morgause's hand on hers. It felt strange, alien, the cool against her boiling skin. It made her shiver, like the first snow over Camelot's turrets. When Morgana finally spoke, her voice was cracked once more, a young girl's voice. 'Morgause, why am I here?'

'In the attack, Morgana, you were poisoned.' She watched her sister's face crumple at her words, and she instantly cursed her blunt speech, her lack of grace.

'I thought I dreamt it.' The brunette spat out the words, a bitter realism in her voice. 'It was Merlin, wasn't it? Arthur's serving boy?'

'I am sorry, Morgana.' She did not ask about their relationship, if the two had ever been close. The pained expression on her sister's face told her all she needed to know. Taking a deep breath, the blonde continued, 'He did not regret it. He said it was all you deserved for your alliance with me.'

She hated the lies; she could feel them burning her tongue like the white tip of an iron poker. But it would be easier, surely, for Morgana to believe in Merlin's hate, than to see herself as a sacrifice for the greater good or Camelot. Besides, Morgause desperately needed her loyalty, her love, and Morgana could not be divided.

Morgana bit her lips; dry with what she supposed was the after effects of the poison. She looked up into the face of the blonde woman in front of her, black smudged around her eyes from the previous day, long hair tangled in inelegant curls, yet still gleaming gold in the dawn. But, Morgana couldn't prevent her heart racing within her chest, not with adrenaline or spine tingling excitement as before, but with plain fear.

She felt herself repeating, 'Morgause, why am I here? Really, Morgause, why did you choose to save me? Hundreds of those born with magic have been slaughtered under Uther's reign, yet you only choose to save me. Why?'

'You must be tired. I shall leave you to rest.' Morgause smiled, yet she could feel the words sticking in her throat as she spoke. Morgana nodded, but she could not miss the fear in her peridot eyes, fear of her surroundings, of the previous events, maybe of Morgause herself, and it cut to the bone.

* * *

><p>Morgause patrolled the castle like a caged animal that day, pacing the corridors with feet as light as lion's paws, yet all the rage of one also. She'd seen the fear in the girl's eyes, fear that washed out any hint of colour until her eyes seemed as empty as teardrops, a fear she had never seen there before. Not even at Uther's side, trapped in the iron walls of Camelot. She'd seen desperation there, but never fear. Morgana saw her as lower than Uther, a more terrifying being than the heartless tyrant himself, and that was despite being her saviour. How she would react to discovering the true relationship between them, half sister to the woman she herself called 'witch'.<p>

Morgause slammed her fist into the stone wall, regretting it instantly as ruby droplets began to slide down the wall, staining the stonework gruesomely. But she could not shake her fury. Not at Morgana, she did not ask to be a pawn in Morgause's chess game, the damsel in distress in need of saving, but at herself. How could she begin to dream of Morgana's loyalty? Morgause, the strange visitor who had bested Arthur in one duel, or Uther, the man who had taken the orphaned Morgana in as a ward over ten years ago, treated her as close as he would his daughter. She felt herself slam her fists into the wall once more, ripping the skin on both hands, causing a further torrent of blood. And she continued, every hit causing the wall to echo at her. Fool. Fool. Her fists were stinging with every blow, blood running down her wrists, sinking into the white material of her shirt. Bitter tears filled her eyes, through fury, grief, pain, until she could see nothing but blurred shapes swimming before her eyes.

'Stop! Morgause, stop.'

A soft voice, yet raised in panic and confusion. Morgause looked to the sound, to see a figure stood in the corridor. She felt herself sink to her knees as the speaker came closer, first hesitantly, than as fast as possible until she was on her knees besides her, holding her bloody hands in her own. Morgause looked up, large red eyes almost hidden behind her lion's mane of curls, and met the steady gaze of the Lady Morgana, eyes alive with Spring compassion.

'Morgana, you're supposed to be resting. You shouldn't be out.' She felt she should have been removing her hands from the girl's grip, yet could not bear to move.

'I heard a noise. Besides, I have survived most of my life with poor sleep, plagued by nightmares; I have never been one for resting.'

'I did not mean to disturb you. You should return to your bed, I am little to worry about...'

'Morgause, I am sorry.' The words escaped before the raven haired girl could stop them. But, she did not want to. 'I have treated you appallingly, Morgause. I have looked on you with fear, rather than the respect you deserve. You saved my life in Camelot, you gave up your own plans just to rescue me and, whatever the reason may have been, I should have been more grateful to you. As I am truly grateful now. I just wish I could let you know how thankful I am to you.'

'It was I who asked for your assistance, Morgana, your alliance. I could never have left you there.' The blood still dripped from her hands, falling onto the sleeves of Morgana's emerald gown, creating a growing ruby stain. The girl looked down, then took the hem of her gown and began to tear strips from it. Morgause's eyes widened. 'Morgana, stop, what are you doing?'

Morgana looked up, smiling slightly. 'The dress is ruined anyway, and it is nothing that cannot be replaced.' Using the ripped fabric, she began to bind the blonde's hands. She pulled tightly on the material, clearly practised, yet Morgause made no sound as she watched the pale hands on hers. The brunette spoke, still not looking up her makeshift bandages. 'You did only what was necessary, Morgause, had you not saved me, I would have died at Merlin's hand. And had we not forged an alliance, I would have died at the hand of the Knights of Medhir.' She spoke plainly, as though talking of trivial matters rather than her own life. But, at the last moment, she looked up, straight into Morgause's dark eyes. 'You gave up your chance for a Kingdom for me. No-one has ever done that before, for me.'

'You, Morgana, will shape the future for all that is to come. You have a great destiny.' Morgause smiled, yet she could hear Taegan's voice echoed through her words. 'For anyone to choose a Kingdom over you would be foolish. To choose anything over you would be foolish.'

Morgana had stopped, captivated by Morgause's words. The blonde lifted one of her hands, now tied with green material, and reached out to cup her sister's pale cheek when she suddenly turned her head, putting her hands quickly to her mouth.

'Morgause, I...'

She had little time to finish her utterance before she began vomiting violently on the stonework. Blood and bile, mixed in some unseemly mess, splattered against the flooring as the girl retched. Bloody dribble ran down her lips as she sat, as though she was some unearthly, cannibalistic creature, but her wide orbs could not hide her fear. Again and again, she felt her stomach flipping and she heaved. Splatters caught the walls, some dripped onto her gown. Then, her head slipped back, plunging towards the stone floor and the stomach churning mess left there, her eyelids flickering as though fighting an overpowering urge to sleep. A strong hand, however, caught her head while another slipped around her waist like a snake, and she was lifted from the cold stone, Morgana's last conscious thought being overwhelming gratitude to this blonde saviour of hers.

* * *

><p>'I recommend you bathe, Morgana.'<p>

The ebony haired girl stirred as she felt a dazzling ray of light hit her eyelids. Groggily, she sat up, putting a hand over her eyes as a shield. Morgause was stood by the window, throwing open thick curtains. Odd, Morgana thought, she didn't recall any curtains there before. But these were heavy, ruby coloured material, capable of blocking out any form of visible light. As she looked closer, however, she realised they were decorated with some golden pattern, dragons and warriors seemed to tell a story across the miles of material. They seemed to resemble the woman besides them, who had changed from her shirt and riding breeches to the crimson dress from their forest meeting, and whose hair seemed to burn in the sunlit morning. How hadn't she noticed the curtains before? Had she been that ill?

Something must have reflected in her face, for Morgause turned to her. 'You are right to be confused, I put them up while you were sleeping. You have slept for two days, Morgana.'

'Two days?' The girl frowned, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dazzling light.

'Yes.' Morgause sat on the edge of the bed, taking Morgana's hands in hers, still bound in the emerald bandages. 'I've prepared you a bath. I thought it would be wise considering your episode.'

'I am sorry.' Morgana looked down, her pale cheeks flushing rose slightly. 'I have not experienced anything like that since I was a child, when I lost my father. The shock meant I was ill for days, without being taken to Camelot almost overnight.' She looked up at the blonde woman. 'When my father died, I was alone.' She had no idea of why she was still talking, spilling countless emotions to the woman who had stolen her from Camelot, the place she supposed was home. But, part of her was grateful. And part of her was still drawn to this woman, despite all that had happened. Maybe because, despite all that had happened, this woman still took her for who she was, and still seemed to care. 'Uther tried to care for me, but I was a stubborn child. My father had let me run wild at Titadel, he was always away, fighting Uther's wars for him, yet I arrived in Camelot suddenly second to Arthur, expected to be a lady. I grew accustomed but I knew I was never truly welcome there. I never knew how easy it was to be alone, in a castle so full of people.'

'You are alone no longer, Morgana.' Morgause smiled, gripping Morgana's hands tighter, despite the sudden desire screaming at her to tell her the truth about them, to reveal the extent of their true relationship. 'Come, let me help you undress.'

Morgana froze, the warm smile that had been sat upon her lips seemed to turn to ice within seconds. 'Don't you have servants for that?'

'I am an enemy of Uther, Morgana, and hunted in almost every corner of the Five Kingdoms. The risk of betrayal is too high for me to keep servants.'

But, still, she sat rigid in the bed. For some reason she could not fathom, the idea of letting Morgause undress her caused her heart to skip a beat. Which must be through fear, for that was what had always caused her to respond in this way before. She was aware of the chestnut eyes boring into her, as of trying to read her very mind, and she forced a smile once more. 'Do not worry, I am very much capable of undressing myself. My servant, Gwen, always used to help me and I always saw it as unnecessary.'

'If you are sure...' Morgause stood up. 'Will you require any assistance?'

'No, thank you.'

She began to head towards the door, red silk sweeping the stone floor. As she reached the archway, taking hold of the heavy, iron handle to close the door behind her, she turned. 'I shall await you in the Great Hall, Morgana.'

* * *

><p>Words of the Ancient Tongue swam before her eyes. Pictures drawn in ancient ink, primitive yet petrifying pictures of men in writhing agony. One clearly showed a man drowning, yet he stood firmly on dry soil. Another was dancing as if stood on red hot coals, his feet singed until the colour of the pit of Hell, yet beneath his feet lay nothing but grass. And the last showed a man gasping for air, as poison closed his throat. It was this last picture that stole Morgause's attention from the leather bound book of sorcery before her, and directed it towards the rotting oak doors that sat opposite her as she thought of the girl she had left upstairs. Maybe she needed servants. Morgana was used to a way of life and she couldn't change that so suddenly. After all, it had been over three hours since she had left her, any longer and she would need to check on her, whether she would be welcomed or not. Morgause could almost laugh, this protective instinct was so new to her. She had always been the baby of the Isle of the Blessed, even when wielding the sword to save Taegan, it had been as a child defends a mother. She saved Cenred, that was true, but that was for pure, selfish gain. She'd needed his protection and, for that, she needed him alive. But Morgana, this was new. This was as though someone had taken away her mask, cracked her warrior facade, melted any ice residing within her, and left her open and new once more. It was sorcery, there was no doubt, but nothing quite as she knew.<p>

A low creak. Morgause, despite staring at the door, felt herself jump at the sound. A smile crept across her face, however, as a slim, pale hand slid over the wood, followed by Morgana's face, wide eyes peering cautiously through the double doors. At the sight of the blonde Priestess, sat at the head of a mahogany table, long enough to seat twenty, Morgana's face flushed a curious rose colour, and she let herself give a gentle smile.

'You've been over three hours, Morgana, why is that?' Morgause asked, an amused tone to her voice.

The brunette girl pushed the door wider and began to approach the table. 'I must be more inadequate than I thought. I've been lying besides the fire for a while, attempting to dry my hair. Gwen must have had some knack to it for all I did was fall asleep.'

'I was worried you wouldn't last the bath, Morgana, you are far stronger than I have given you credit for,' Morgause took one of her hands as the girl sat beside her. 'But, then, I should have expected that. You are destined for great things.'

Morgana gave a grim smile. 'It's quite alright, I am used to being underestimated. In Camelot, you are only someone if you are male. No-one would give me a second glance over Arthur, I remained a child while he was seen as a man. The King's ward and female? I may as well have been invisible at times.'

'Then, they are fools.'

'But, of course, I am talking to one who bested Arthur in armed combat. No-one has achieved that before, not even one of Camelot's own Knights.' Morgana frowned playfully. She was feeling more comfortable now, warm from her bathing and sat as she would in Camelot, and, in that, her confidence around her hostess was growing. 'How did you do it? Where did you learn to fight like that?'

'No doubt you learnt combat, Morgana.' The blonde shrugged, attempting to change the conversation but her sister, with a curiously wicked glint in her eye, would allow nothing to deter her.

'Of course, Uther felt it was my duty to learn, so I could fight sorcerers but I never learnt to your level. It was deemed unladylike and a waste of valuable time, for a woman could never be a truly skilled warrior. So, who trained you?'

Morgause sighed. 'I learnt at the court of King Cenred.'

'Cenred is no King.' A true frown now creased the brunette's porcelain forehead.

'He has a Kingdom, and resides over it with a crown upon his head, a sceptre in his hand and a throne beneath him. That his crown is a helmet, his sceptre a sword and his throne mere wood makes little difference.' The Priestess felt herself say, defending the man in despite of herself, as if defending him would defend her right to sword craft. 'It was King Cenred who taught me to fight, it was under his guidance I grew into what I am now.'

'Cenred will not rest until he takes Camelot for himself. He has always been an enemy.'

'So has the Old Religion.' Morgause reminded her. 'Yet, you sit at the table of the High Priestess wearing a dress given as a gift by King Cenred. And, thus, all is not as it seems.'

Morgana fell silent, looking down into her lap, cloaked midnight blue from the gown she had found left on her bed by Morgause. A gift from Cenred? She forced herself to fight the itch in her fingers to tear the gown from her very body. For Morgause was right. Uther, the man she had looked on as a father figure for years, now only caused her blood to boil, like she was a wicked sorcerer's potion. Merlin, the boy who had been her friend, who she had trusted with her deepest secret, had betrayed her with no hint of remorse. Yet Morgause, the Priestess, the witch, had saved her, cared for her, welcomed her more warmly than any citizen of Camelot had. Could she be wrong, now? Her enemies be her new friends? Morgana could feel her head beginning to spin, as though someone had turned her upside down and asked her to walk on the vaulted ceiling.

Morgause did not need to ask the girl why she was silent, head bowed, teeth chewing nervously at her bottom lip. She'd been there, alone, terrified. Maybe Morgana had one advantage, however. The blonde extended a hand and lightly caressed her pale cheek, ignoring her slight shiver at Morgause's touch.

'Uther is old, and trapped within his hate, Morgana. You cannot blame yourself.'

'I am nothing.' Morgause felt water on her hand, and realised it was Morgana's salty tears, slipping down her cheeks. 'My father brought me up to be strong, to think for myself. Yet, the longer I think, the more I realise I have let Uther shape me, change me, make me hate myself.'

'Morgana.' Morgause cupped her wet face, bringing her to meet her chestnut orbs. 'Uther is the only one who should hate himself, for what and who he is. He is blind to everything and hears only what he wishes to hear. You are nothing like that. You have defended sorcery, fought for everything, done what is right and have damned the consequences, every step of the way. Your father brought you up as you should have been.' She felt the next words slip out of her mouth before she had time to stop them, like wild animals trampling over any chance she had with this girl. 'Your mother would be proud of you.'

Morgana froze, eyes wide as though Morgause's words had landed her a physical blow. 'My mother is dead, she died in childbirth. My father never spoke of her, it broke his heart. Her death was what kept him fighting for Uther, for he could not bear to be in Titadel for too long, in fear of my mother's memory.'

'He fought for Uther long before her death, Morgana. He left Vivian alone in life just as she left him in death.'

'What do you mean?' Morgana shook free of Morgause's hands on her face, edging her chair slightly away. 'You cannot mean that. You did not know my father, he was noble, a good father and a good husband. My mother's death killed him.'

'No, I did not know your father but I did know your mother.' Morgause felt the bitter taste of the words in her mouth as she spoke, knowing every word she said would be a blow against her sister.

'That is impossible. She died when I was born...'

'I was only a child.' Morgause's hands shot out again, taking Morgana's tightly. 'Morgana, you must listen to me. I wanted to tell you this when we knew each other better, but I must say it now.' The ebony haired girl remained silent, looking down at the hands enveloping hers with eyes full of rage and curiosity. 'Morgana, it was your mother, Lady Vivian, who gave me the bracelet you now wear around your wrist.'

'That's not possible. You said it was a present from your moth...' She suddenly froze, halfway through her speech as if the reality of what she was saying had suddenly hit her. She frowned, lips still slightly parted in confusion. Then, her face hardened and when she spoke again, her voice was no longer soft, but sharp as the bloody instruments that hung around the castle walls. 'No! You lie. You lie, just as you lied to Arthur about his mother. Uther was right about you.' She was fighting to pull her hands from the blonde's iron grip. 'Let go! Let go of me!'

'Morgana, listen to me,' Morgause could feel herself pleading, as weak and desperate as a helpless child. 'I would not lie, not about this. My mother was Lady Vivian, but my father was a Druid man. She had to give me away to protect me from Uther, she feared I would possess magic. I was brought up without a mother, I myself knew nothing of this until I was one and twenty years. You must believe me, we share a mother. We are half-sisters, by blood as well as magic.'

But, fire danced in Morgana's eyes, mossy dark in fury. She snatched her hand away from the blonde, as though her strength had left her like Samson, and Morgana threw her chair back as she stood, the crash of the wood against stone echoing around the empty hall.

As she reached the double doors, she paused momentarily, turning just so Morgause could watch the shape of her lips as she spoke, her tongue a whip and each word a lash against the Priestess' heart.  
>'You will never be my sister, Morgause. Never.'<p>

And she stalked from the hall, midnight material flying behind her in her haste, like a witch's cloak, as Morgause's head collapsed into her hands in despair.

**Thank you everyone for continuing to read this, I hope it's OK for you all :)**

**LadyDunla: Thank you so much! That's why I started writing this, no-one's really written anything from Morgause's entire point of view, which is odd considering how important she is to Series 3. I hope you continue to enjoy! :)  
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	10. Chapter 10

**_Sorry if this upload has taken a while, found it quite difficult to write so I hope you all enjoy :)_  
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**Chapter 10**

The clanging of metal against metal forced Morgana's eyes open. Swords. All she could think of were the Knights of Medhir, and the sword that had come within centimetres of taking her life. Had Morgause brought them back? To rid her of the troublesome girl she had saved? No, it was impossible, there would be no warfare if they were sent to kill her. She must be being rescued. Uther wouldn't abandon her, however cruel he was, surely? She had been his loving ward, almost like his daughter, for so long, she could easily just return to that, couldn't she? But, just the thought made her skin crawl. To live back in Camelot, to live in fear once more. To be alone. Was that better than where she was? Besides, there was only the sound of one sword, it could not be a rescue party. Still, her curiosity could not be so easily contained and she felt herself tread barefoot on the stone floor, wincing at the sudden cold as a hand reached to the heavy curtains and she looked down on the courtyard.

Another clang, as the long sword in Morgause's hand slammed hard against the metal dummy in the centre of the yard. The sound echoed threateningly around, as if to serve a reminder of the force the blonde warrior still held. Her blonde curls whipped in the early morning air, the blood red of the sunrise catching them like spun gold. She was certainly majestic, beautiful as a hunting lioness. A spin, nimble as a dancer, and her sword made contact once again, this time in the neck of the model. Morgana leant forward, resting her chin lightly on her hands, eyes glittering, a captive to the woman before her. Around one finger, she felt herself absent-mindedly twisting a lock of hair as she focused on the combat. It was certainly more splendid than Arthur's practice. He swung aggressively, but heavily like an armoured rhino. Morgause was graceful, her movement as elegant as if she was dancing a single ballet, and Morgana felt sure she could never tear herself away. But, the minute the warrior turned, and her deep chestnut eyes rose to meet the peridot gaze of her sister, Morgana felt her stomach turn unexpectedly in fury, bile bubbling within her at the memory of the last night's conversation, and she let the curtain fall coldly back over the window.

Morgana turned her back to the heavy curtain, on the sight of the woman in the courtyard, whose dark orbs were so wide in desperation. Her sister? No. It was impossible. She accused her mother of whoredom, cuckolding her father with a nobody, a Druid, he did not even a name. That wasn't her mother, she could not have been such a woman. Her father worshipped her, he never spoke of her, his grief was so great. Everything she knew of her was from Uther, her noble roots, her beauty, her good nature. Why would she throw all that away for a meaningless night with a Druid?

Morgause was a liar. She brought her here to corrupt her mind, take advantage of her hatred of Uther to take Camelot for herself. Maybe with the help of Cenred, if they used to be allies, if allies were all they used to be. She would be a pawn in the Priestess' game, used for nothing but greed and revenge. Morgana could feel tears forming in the white heat of her fury, slipping down her cheeks, and she wiped them away, frustrated by her own weakness. As she brought her wrist down, she saw the bracelet still against her skin and she tore it off with a savage anger. That witch was not her sister, could never be her sister, it was ridiculous. She'd been a fool to throw away Camelot for her.

But then, she saved her. Morgause did not need her. If her quest was for Camelot, she could achieve that without any assistance of the King's ward. Cenred had a huge army, and Morgause had magic, they would be unstoppable. And Morgause hadn't hurt her, Morgana had shouted, been cold, been hurtful, but Morgause laid no finger upon her. Instead, she nursed her. She had slept a night beside her, why would she do that if she only wanted her for Camelot? And why lie? They shared the Old Religion, Morgause could guarantee safety from persecution, that would be enough for an alliance.

She sank onto the bed, salty tears smeared across her face. Besides her, the bracelet still lay and she picked it up, gazing in vain as if she hoped it would reveal some great truth to her. She felt her lips murmur softly as she sat, hunched, atop the crumpled bedding,

'Who are you, Morgause?'

* * *

><p>The sun was only just rising, its rays bleeding bloody light across the pale sky, as Morgause took up her sword and entered the courtyard. Wincing slightly at the dawn sun, she realised this would be her seventh morning of rising early for her sword practice, and all had been unsuccessful.<p>

A clash as she swung her sword against the dummy, pent up fury in her attack, and then twice more before she stopped to look up at the castle around her. The first morning, she had come to the window, she had bared to watch the practice, her peridot eyes seeing her just as they had in Camelot. But, then, nothing. Morgause had visited her chambers every day, leaving meals and a note to say where she would be that day, should Morgana choose to find her. But, nothing. She would find the food nibbled at, as though Morgana did not even want to touch food given by the Priestess. And so, each morning Morgause returned to the courtyard, in the hope of attracting Morgana's attention, to let her know there was hope.

But, although the ruby curtains seemed to stir, no slim fingers slid round, no pale face appeared at the window and Morgause swung her sword heavily against the metal before her. Swing after swing, echoing as though issued from an army, rather than from Morgause's unrelenting fury. Each hit was an enemy: Uther, the Knights, Arthur. But mainly herself, for if she could have hacked her own stupidity into a thousand pieces, she would not have hesitated. Forget Taegan and destiny and Camelot. All that mattered was the ebony haired girl who sat within the citadel, whose image haunted Morgause's sleep like a ghoul.

She stopped, breathless, her hair tangled, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and she looked up one last, desperate time. Wide peridot eyes met hers defiantly, refusing to break gaze, and like an eagle, the blonde warrior felt her heart soar. Hope.

* * *

><p>Soft footsteps, light enough to belong to a woodland faerie, but enough to make the blonde suddenly aware of herself as she sat at the desk within her chambers. Slowly, she tore her gaze from the parchment before her, to the girl stood over her, this time clad in a glittering silver, with a matching steel glint in her eyes.<p>

'Morgause.' She spoke as softly as she walked, yet there was still something in her voice. Hidden, threatening.

'Morgana, you have been avoiding me this past week.' Morgause lowered her tone, matching her sister's icy speech. If this was the way Morgana had chosen to play, Morgause would be a fool not to oblige. 'Why is that?'

'You used me, Morgause.' She held herself nobly still, yet she dropped all courtly courtesies, her speech blunt. 'You knew of my hatred of Uther and his ways, and you used me in your scheme. I don't know who you are allied with, who would help you take Camelot if I did not accept, I can only assume Cenred from your past association with him. You asked a great deal from me before, yet you had my allegiance, but you try to twist me further with your lies. We cannot be sisters, it is not possible, my mother, for that is all she is to you, would not do that. I will not believe you and I will not allow you to corrupt me to your evil.' Morgana stood straight, as though an oak tree, and spoke with as much emotion as one. Her eyes were hard as polished stones, alien in her previously sympathetic face.

'I know what I did, Morgana, but I saved you. I brought you back from certain death, whether not at the hand of the poison, then the hand of your guardian, from whom you would not have been able to hide your magic forever.' Something in Morgause softened looking at her sister, despite the sharp gaze directed at her. She felt like a creature under a microscopic glass, scrutinised, studied, a puzzle that Morgana needed to solve. She was aware of what she would see: a captor, an enemy. But, maybe she could see more.

'I was not in any danger,' Morgana said defiantly.

'You know that is not true. You might be daughter of Gorlois, Uther's ward, but you would be just another sorcerer should he have discovered your gifts. I know the persecution of Uther's reign, Morgana, I know the persecution all too well.'

'What do you want, Morgause? With Camelot? With me?'

'Uther killed the closest thing I have ever had to a mother, to a family. I have lived my life in fear, and hatred. I want only what I told you, a World without Uther. I want him to know how it feels to be hated and despised, to lose those closest to you.' Morgause stood, her crimson, silk train slipping onto the floor, and she stepped slowly around the desk.

'My mother was not killed by Uther.'

'You're right, but I was not raised by Lady Vivian. The High Priestesses of the Old Religion raised me, they taught me magic, they lived peacefully. Yet, they were all still slaughtered, the Isle burnt to the ground until it was nothing more than rubble and ghosts. And I was left alone. Just as you are, now.'

'I am tired of being alone.' Morgana did not stop the blonde woman stepping closer and taking her hands. She felt too heavy to do anything about anything. 'Yet, you are still lying to me. We are not sisters. Do you expect me to believe you could just arrive in Camelot, just as I appear to need someone, and for me to believe you are my sister?'

'You do not have to believe me, Morgana.' Her lips spoke, but she did not seem to be able to control them. And, in this, every word was as much of a shock to her, as it was to the girl before her. 'All those who could confirm anything are dead, dead and gone. They can return no more than Lady Vivian herself, to embrace us both. But, turn around, Morgana. What do you see?'

Behind them, a long, ornate looking glass hung, sunlight reflected off its gleaming surface. Morgana turned to see the image of two women, polar opposites. One as pale as death, hair darker than a raven, the other shimmering gold. Silver cloaking one, it must be her, like armour, the other clad in bloody red. Or a loving red, for she felt like the one whose heart was hard steel. Yet, their hands were clasped, in allegiance, or friendship. Morgana felt herself speaking, if only to fill the choking silence that seemed to hang like a noose.

'Uther told me often how I looked like my mother. Dark hair, the same stature. But, I always had my father's eyes. My mother had such dark eyes, apparently, deep chestnut. It was those that Uther seemed to remember do vividly. Those eyes that my father fell in love with...' Morgana had still been gazing into the mirror, but felt herself drift as she searched the blonde reflection, and found herself staring into large, dark eyes. She tore her eyes away to find herself looking into the chestnut eyes of Morgause beside her. Is that what Morgause had wanted her to see? Wanted her to realise? It meant nothing though, surely? But, without knowing how, she felt herself enveloped in the tight embrace, so comforting after so long, of this blonde Priestess, her sister, as she sunk to the floor in tears of revelation.

* * *

><p>Before her, oceans of emerald grass lay out, enough to drown in should one be foolish enough to venture out. Occasionally, a dot of blue or pink lay amongst the endless array of green, as though the last remains of a poor soul trapped in the Earthly waves. Morgause felt herself shiver as a sudden wind blew across the plains, catching her as she stood on the crumbling battlements, staring down. She remembered when she had first arrived, so alive with purpose and promise and pathetic optimism. She'd had two aims: to punish Uther for the cold hearted massacre of her family and to rescue her sister. She had come so close to both, yet it now seemed she would have neither.<p>

Morgause frowned, shaking her head so her blonde locks blew more fiercely in the wind. She had come out to think, to escape the pounding in her head and her tear sore eyes, but her head hurt worse than ever and she could still feel the salty wet on her cheeks where teardrops continued to fall. It appeared the Lady Morgana really did have an iron hold of her. She had not felt such a tempest of emotion for years, yet now, now her very being rested upon the shoulders of this girl, her sister. This passionate yet icy cold, virile yet as fragile as a looking glass, beautiful, courageous ward of Camelot. For the first time, she had held her so close to her, close enough to feel her warm breath against her skin, and her tears had dropped onto Morgause's lap. She had whispered into Morgana's ears, whatever she thought would soothe her sister, and she'd prayed they could have stayed like that for as long as possible. But, all too soon, Morgana had torn from her grasp and fled her chambers, as if realising exactly whose arms she was enclosed in, leaving Morgause to find solace on this battlement, stood amongst the elements. Something that had suited her before, had granted her peace, but now everything seemed to go against her, the wind, this endless desert of grass, the starless night sky that was unfurling above her. But, her heart wasn't there anymore. Her heart did not belong anywhere, now.

She could not say how long she had been stood outside when snow white hands suddenly appeared beside hers on the weathered stone battlements. Morgause did not have to turn to recognise them, instead she kept her gaze straight ahead as she spoke.

'You can return to Camelot if you so wish. It is a few days hard ride but, if that is your desire, I cannot keep you here against your will.'

'I cannot return to being Uther's loving ward. Not now I have escaped all of that.' Slowly, cautiously, one of the snowy hands was placed over Morgause's, a burning sensation passing through them despite the cold wind. 'I know I have been a difficult guest and I have said this all before, but I know the truth now. I know why you gave me the bracelet, and why you wanted my alliance. I know why you saved me and I could not be more grateful.'

Morgause withdrew her hand, slowly as though something was heavy on her mind. She took a few steps away, her back still to Morgana, who followed her with wide, hopeful eyes. Then, after a few moments, the blonde turned unexpectedly, and stood close to the raven haired girl, taking both her hands. She was close enough, almost, to hear Morgana's heart drumming in her chest. Morgana followed every movement of her lips as she spoke, her own parted slightly.

'What am I to you, Morgana? When we met in the woods, you told me you would stand with me against Uther and Camelot, is that still true? You would help me to defend the Old Religion, bring back peace to those who sit in fear, who run from executioners for crimes no more than being born. Is that still your wish?' She asked, her voice calm but a panicked glint danced in her dark eyes. She could feel her pulse racing as she spoke, the whip of the wind doing little to comfort her. Each second of silence was more torturous, taking her breath just as if someone was squeezing her throat.

Then, a slight squeeze of her hands as the ebony haired girl held the Priestess' gaze steadily, a ghost of a smile across her lips. 'Morgause, you told me yourself, we are sisters. I know I doubted you to begin with, but I know the truth now. Even if we were not, as I believed, we are united in our ties to the Old Religion, which no-one can deny. I will help you with whatever you ask of me.'

'I cannot say what it means to hear you say that, Sister.' Morgause caressed the girl's cheek, burning under her touch, a smile playing on her lips at the final recognition of their relations.

'You told me that before, I couldn't understand why I meant so much to you.'

Morgause couldn't stop herself from breaking into a broad smile, her slight form barely able to contain all her unexpected joy. But, there was a serious topic at hand. 'Will you help me to bring down Uther, and the power of Camelot?'

Morgana's gaze stayed steady. 'All of Camelot?'

'Everything. Everyone who defies us. Uther, Arthur, his treacherous manservant who thought nothing of poisoning you,' Morgause whispered, her voice almost lost in the endless space.

'All of Camelot is an enemy to us, to anyone who remains different.' Morgana took a deep breath, as if needing to prepare herself for the exertion of what she would next say. 'I am yours, Morgause.'

* * *

><p>Her fiery locks tumbled down her face, falling either side of her breasts, threatening to break free from the too tight corset that bound them. She might not be the most handsome woman, Cenred felt himself muse, but her behaviour when having drunk two goblets of wine would entirely make up for that. He smirked as she sat delicately on the arm of his throne, perhaps not as delicately as others had sat there before...or, at least, not as delicately as one woman had sat there before. In her hand, a dented, metal goblet sat, wine spilling out slightly as she gave an intoxicated giggle at a comment from the King, and bent forward to kiss him gently on the lips. With a hand, he went to cup one of her freckled breasts, giving a low chuckle.<p>

'Sire, sire, there is urgent news.'

He scowled, pulling away from the woman's grasp as the Hall doors burst open and a young man, face covered in deep scars, ran to the foot of the throne, falling to his knees. Cenred bitterly resisted the urge to kick the man, his latest foreign ambassador, and leave him sprawled across the floor like the worm he really was.

'So, you have news, should I be impressed?' He drawled, voice low, threatening in tone. 'I thought I was not to be disturbed.'

'I am sorry, My Lord, but this news could not wait,' The man felt himself say, almost plead, attempting to shake off the polished jet of the eyes staring holes into him.

'Then, please share. Or you can share your entrails with this floor.'

The man's eyes widened. 'This is news that can only be shared while alone. No-one else may hear.'  
>Cenred's eyes flickered to the woman besides him, still sipping from the goblet, an intoxicated smile on her face. 'Ignore her, she will not see the morning. What is this news?'<p>

At the King's speech, the man passed worried eyes over the woman, yet she remained oblivious. With a gulp, he began to speak. 'My Lord, I have just ridden straight from Camelot. King Uther's ward, the Lady Morgana, has been kidnapped.'

Cenred felt himself chuckle once more. 'Uther could never hold onto a beautiful woman, his own wife chose death over him. But, this does not concern me.'

'It is not that news, My Lord.' The man hesitated, breathing deeply before speaking once more. 'I got no name, but the talk was that the ward was taken by a witch. A witch in armour who fought like a man, yet with blonde curls like those of a noble woman.'

Cenred smirked, he had been waiting for news of this for months, since her disappearing act in the middle of the night. 'Ah, so Morgause finally makes an appearance. Yet, what could she ever want from the ward of King Uther?'

**Thank you for everyone continuing to read this :)**

**Mike3207: That's what I thought, it's often done from Morgana's viewpoint if at all. And the cover is Morgause, but it must just be a bad shot, because she is quite blonde.  
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**The King's Soldier: Thank you, I'm really enjoying writing this so I like to hear people are enjoying it. I think it's a shame we didn't find out more about Morgause in the show, she was a very interesting character.  
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	11. Chapter 11

_**Again, taken me a while, but I hope you all enjoy :)**_

**Chapter 11**

Intimacy seemed to come easily to Morgause, whose very voice, it seemed, was made for low whispers and careful compliments. Just hearing her speak, even just about philosophy or warfare, two of her favourite subjects, made Morgana's pulse flutter like a butterfly. Her hands, though so perfectly crafted for the sword, or for the ancient parchments she often seemed to be studying, seemed to yearn for human contact. She often found Morgause clutching her pale hands in conversation, or softly caressing her cheek in the deep silences that seemed to float around the citadel. Morgana couldn't complain, it made her dizzy at times to think there was someone who could feel this close to her in so short a time. It had been a month, maybe, since her sworn alliance, since the discovery of their true relationship. Maybe that was why she was so close; Morgause had never had a family. Morgana hadn't much, her father while she was a child, Camelot as she grew up. Had she felt this close to anyone else, Uther? Arthur was as close as a brother, maybe him? Even Gwen, they had been close before, had they been this close? Maybe she just had not noticed before, for it felt everyday with Morgause opened her eyes further, expanded her mind, like she was a candle suddenly burning with the brightest flame of the whitest heat, filling her entire body.

For having belonged to one of the greatest courts in the Five Kingdoms, the ebony headed girl seemed to settle well into Morgause's care. The blonde smiled as she looked up from the manuscript she was studying and saw her sister sat in the window, a leather bound book in her lap. She had struggled at first as, despite Morgana's words of sisterhood and the bond of the Old Religion, her sister would wake in the morning and cast a disappointed glance when she found the blonde Priestess, rather than her dark haired serving girl, standing at the end of her bed. When Morgana would enter the castle's Great Hall and stop with momentary confusion when she did not find Arthur, Uther or even the crimson Knights standing there, only the solitary figure of Morgause, eyes alight with magic. When she would bark an order to a servant, only to remember she no longer had any, only to remember she was no longer the Ward of Camelot. But all that had faded quicker than Morgause had expected. And all that remained to the Lady Morgana was her: sister, mentor, friend. Something Morgause had no complaints about.

A slight ripple of the cascade of ebony curls as her sister looked up from the yellowing pages before her distracted Morgause from her thoughts. She found peridot eyes gazing at her, and rosebud lips parted as though ready to speak.

'Sister, your mind seems clouded by thought,' Morgause said, placing her parchment straight on the table. 'Are you well?'

At the question, Morgana let a slight smile play across her lips, looking down momentarily. 'Quite well, you needn't worry. I meant only to tell you I watched your training this morning.'

'I know, I saw you. I see you watching every morning.' She trained in warfare every morning, just as the Knights in any Kingdom did, but harder, with a sharper glint in her deceptively wide eyes. And, every morning, she saw a pale hand pull back the curtains, and a pale face watching her, eyes glittering with curiosity.

'I want to join you. Uther taught me to fight, I can wield a sword as well as any Knight of Camelot. Even as well as Arthur. I want to train with you.' Morgana stood, carrying the heavy book in her arms to the table, until she was level with Morgause, their eyes meeting in a steely lock. 'I will not hold you back, or ask you to be lenient. I want to be challenged.'

'You are weak still, I cannot allow you.'

'It has been over a month since I was poisoned, Morgause. I am as well as I will ever be.'

'You are not strong enough. The effects of hemlock can take many months before the effects have sufficiently worn off.'

'Maybe usually. But, of course, not everyone is so well treated and cared for as I have been. Not all healers are as talented as you are.' She was almost purring, something the blonde had never heard from her. But something that was not at all repulsive as she slipped elegantly around the table, moving closer to the Priestess. 'Surely, you cannot deny that.'

Morgause felt a smile creep across her lips as the space between them closed, and the raven haired ward stood behind her chair, almost close enough to feel her breath on her neck. 'No, you are right. And you do seem much improved. Though how far is another matter.'

'I can fight. I will not disappoint you.' She spoke in earnest now, her voice had lost its smooth tones to resemble those of a child, an almost desperate plea to her sister's emotion.

'I know, Sister. You could never disappoint me.' Morgause turned her head to look straight up at Morgana's face, her eyes soft in a wave of tenderness. She would regret her next words, she knew it, yet the speech escaped her mouth as if it was alive. 'Tomorrow morning, Morgana, we can train together.'

And she watched as Morgana began beaming, her smile bright enough to rival the candle sat on the table. Then, quickly, as though mere instinct rather than a thought out process, she bent down and pressed her lips to Morgause's cheek, the Priestess' skin burning slightly under her touch as her lips lingered there for a moment before she hastened from the room.

And all Morgause could do was sit, musing in pleasant disbelief, for the rest of the afternoon, her manuscript long forgotten.

* * *

><p>Sunlight burnt her eyes, despite the sun only just rising in a dim dawn, and Morgana felt herself raise a hand to block its fiery gaze. Before her, dressed only in her oversized shirt and breeches, Morgause laughed, the golden light reflected off her long mane only serving to blind Morgana further.<p>

'I wouldn't do that, Morgana. It is almost impossible to duel if you shield your eyes the whole time. Besides, you must learn to use everything to your advantage, that is how to truly succeed.'

'I thought you might, at least, wear chain mail,' Morgana said sullenly, lowering her hand. She had been given no choice, of course. From somewhere, Morgause had pulled out a chain mail vest, heavy on her young sister's shoulders, given the light armoured bodice she wore in Camelot. Even in the early morning chill, she could feel a sweat developing under her arms. Yet, Morgause walked freely, her clothes light, and, for some reason, her mood even lighter. 'Surely, we should both be wearing it?'

'If I feared injury, I would wear my armour, Sister.'

'I was trained by Uther's best swordsman.'

'And why does that not inspire fear into me?' Morgause asked, a slight curl at her lips, yet her tone remained in jest and Morgana felt herself give a slight smile. Yet, she felt it slip just as soon as Morgause spoke. 'Here, this is the sword you must use.'

Morgana stared hard at the broadsword being handed to her. It was old, rust was starting to form along the edges and the once ornate handle had been eroded to nothing more than an unrecognisable lump. Scratches and dents littered the blade and the Ward did not think she had ever seen a blade in so poor a condition. But, that was not what caused her to stand in slight shock. That was caused by the sheer length of the blade.

'Morgause, I cannot fight with that. The sword is huge, it cannot be right for me,' Morgana stammered, yet still the steel blade was forced towards her and she felt herself grip it tightly, willing herself to keep the weight of it.

'No, the blade itself was made for a taller stature. Probably male.' Morgause had picked up her own weapon now, and was casually circling Morgana where she stood, yet her dark eyes remained focused. 'But, Sister, once you learn to master a foreign sword, any will come more naturally to you. For you cannot say you will always have your own weapon with you. My first battle was fought with a dead man's blade, forged in Camelot, used to kill my own kind. Yet, I made it my ally. You must do the same.'

And, without warning, she swung, her blade slicing through the air quicker than the wind. Morgause had been prepared to stop her attack, just at the last moment, her sudden move only serving as a warning, yet the clash of steel on steel pleasantly surprised her as Morgana raised her sword to block. Not even the heavy chainmail seemed to slow her as the ebony haired girl withdrew before stepping forward for the attack. The Priestess raised an eyebrow casually, the attack easily blocked. Yet, her sister did not seem to want to yield so easily. A flurry of attacks followed, varied in strength, in height and speed. The two sisters circled each other as they fought, sweat building on each of their brows, dripping down their faces inelegantly, their sword handles becoming more difficult to grip as they moved faster and worked harder, yet neither would surrender to the other.

'I told you, I was trained by the best swordsman in Camelot. I have fought in battle before, I have killed men,' Morgana spoke, her words barely audible over the clash of the metal. 'Only ever to protect others, but I can still wield a blade.'

'You have more talent than Arthur,' Morgause replied. 'Yet, your footwork is entirely incorrect.'

Morgana stopped suddenly, her sword dropping back to her side. It took Morgause only extreme skill to stop her blade, mid-swing, from cutting into her sister's still form. 'Sister, you must always give warning if you mean to stop. We do not fight with wooden swords as children. But, still, you are the victor of the morning.'

She looked up, peridot orbs wide, no longer blinded by the early rays of the sun. 'How can I be the victor?'

'You spent much of the duel on the offensive. If I had been less skilled, you would have easily beaten me.'

'My footwork?'

'Quite wrong.' Morgause came suddenly closer, her sword no longer in hand. 'Stand as you would if you were about to attack, Morgana. Just as you were doing before with me.'

A confused frown, yet still Morgana repositioned herself as if about to swing out at an unknown villain. Her sword, still firmly grasped after recovering from its sudden weight, was held in her two hands, her face now wearing a hard battle scowl and Morgause had to wonder where she had acquired such hate, or who she was now directing it towards. The blonde stepped closer, standing directly behind her sister, placing a hand firmly on her waist. Despite the chainmail, Morgana froze, as Morgause's other hand found her upper thigh, repositioning it gently. For a second, with this foreign presence against her waist and the warmth against her leg, she could feel Morgause pressing into her, their two bodies together, Morgause's hot breath against her exposed ear. She gave a slight turn of her head, just enough to see the golden curls behind her, some snaking over Morgana's shoulder, before Morgause's hand trailed up Morgana's body from her thigh, to her arms, and, in that slight move, reminded them both exactly why they were so close.

'You're very stiff, Morgana. It is not helping me in your teaching.' Morgause had dropped both her hands and was now circling the Ward's new, repositioned figure. 'If you wish to improve, you must be looser, and lighter.'

'I am not so used to being treated as a ragdoll.' Morgana frowned, still feeling the woman's touch against her body, and what that had seemed to do to her.

'I don't understand. How were you taught in Camelot if not through physical contact? You're learning to fight, physical contact is not something that can be avoided.'

'I was the Ward of King Uther Pendragon. The female Ward. Of course, I was not allowed to be touched. Especially not by some swordsman.' Morgana scoffed. 'I would be told what to do and merely follow instruction. No-one had any problem with that.'

'Well, I have a problem with that,' Morgause said, slightly more defensive than she wished to sound, as if Morgana's sword was really raised against her. 'To learn to fight, you must be close, almost as if to simulate a battle itself. That is how to be the best possible.'

'I presume you were close with Cenred, then?' She didn't mean to sound so bitter, but the words felt like a harsh Winter wind once they had left her mouth. She wasn't even sure why.

'Yes, you could call it close, Morgana. You could call it many things, many a lot worse than 'close'. Personally, I call it doing all I needed to do to stay safe, so I could be here now for you. I am sorry if that is a problem.'

Morgana felt her stance collapse, armour suddenly too heavy, her arms falling from their rigid position. The sword clattered to the cobbled ground, scaring away any birds nesting for the night in the crevices around the stone castle. 'I apologise, Morgause. I meant nothing by it. It is difficult to hear criticism when brought up in the Pendragon court. Uther sees any opinion but his own as wrong, and to listen to criticism as weak.'

'But you are not a Pendragon, Morgana.' Her slim hand reached up to her sister's face, making contact with her porcelain skin in a gentle caress. Without thinking, Morgana raised her hand to meet Morgause's, stroking her fingers lightly. 'You are better than them, Morgana, the Old Religion runs in your veins; you will always be more than they could ever dream.'

* * *

><p>Yet, despite everything, Morgause's kind words of encouragement, her gentle tuition the rest of the day, despite the smile Morgana could not force from her lips as she drifted into her sleep that night, the nightmares returned. A pounding heart as she ran down stone corridors. A warning bell rang in the distance. Her breath was jagged. Fear. Then swirling images, nothing focused. Faces and muffled voices, she was sure she could place them, but clearly not for no names sprung to her mind. Then, she saw her. Silver cloak, shimmering as light on a still lake, and long golden curls covering her face as she lay, motionless, on the stone floor. And she ran to her, feet echoing, the hands reaching for icy cold cheeks to turn her over, to see her face, though she knew already whose face she would see. But she refused to believe it. No. No…<p>

A cry in the night. Nothing more. Almost as soft as the breeze that blew through the trees outside the castle, rustling the leaves ever so slightly. Most people would not even hear it, they would sleep through it with no trouble. But not her, she knew this sound. It was a cry for help.

Morgause awoke suddenly. The Priestesses had taught her how to wake oneself from slumber in case of danger, but this was something new to her. She got up too fast and stumbled in the enveloping dark around her, nearly strangling herself in the curtains surrounding the bed. Wearing only a thin, white shirt, the same as she wore for her sword training, she shivered when the night air hit her bare legs. But such a harsh feeling showed her she was fully awake, at least. Reaching behind her, she pulled her hair out of the confining plait, letting gold tumble down her back, and she hurried into the adjoining room.

The first thing to hit her, as she stood at the bottom of her sister's four poster bed, was a sudden wave of compassion, so warm she forgot her bare legs and thin shirt. Peering around the green satin curtains, she could see her sister's chest rising and falling rapidly, as though gasping desperately for air. Morgana's body was tossing and turning beneath sweat soaked sheets, eyelids flickering manically, as though possessed by some unseen demon. But Morgause knew differently.

She circled the bed, eventually sitting gently beside Morgana's sleeping figure, and began stroking her ebony hair, whispering to her softly, as if she were Morgause's own. She watched, helpless, as her sister grew more restless, her breathing more rapid, until she shot up, panting heavily. Without thinking, Morgause pulled her fatigued figure into her arms and held her closely.

'Sister, sister.' Morgause felt Morgana's arms tighten around her as she stroked her thick hair through whispers. 'I am here. I'm here.'

'Morgause.' She nestled herself into the blonde's neck, breathing in her familiar scent, a mixture of light flowers and a hint of sweat, all covered with, what Morgana imagined, was the smell of magic. It calmed her, whatever it was, and she could feel her pulse slowing, though rogue tears still slipped down her cheeks. 'I was scared, Morgause. I was so scared.'

'Well, I am here with you now. You need not be scared anymore, Morgana, my Sister.' Morgause smiled, leaning back slightly so their eyes could meet and she watched a rosy blush begin to spread across Morgana's pale cheeks. 'How did they help you in Camelot?'

'Gaius would give me a sleeping draught, but it never helped. My maidservant, Gwen, would try to reassure me, but she would leave.' Morgana looked down, her hand subconsciously reaching for the metal bracelet on her wrist. At the cold touch of metal against her fingertips, she felt the ghost of a smile hover on her lips and she raised her gaze again, to meet her sister's chestnut orbs. 'Of course, I have not had a nightmare since you gave me the healing bracelet. Not until tonight.'

At this, Morgause rose from the bed, her feet noiseless against the stone floor as she walked to stand beside the ornate fireplace opposite the foot of the bed. 'The bracelet can prevent dreams, but not prophecies, Morgana. Some futures are shrouded in mist; others are clear as cut glass. But, both to see either is to see what is yet to come.'

The image of Morgause, motionless, on the hall flashed once again through Morgana's mind, and she felt her blood freeze to ice within her veins. 'It cannot be a prophecy.'

'I cannot tell you, my Sister,' the blonde said slowly, before murmuring soft words under her breath, causing amber flames to awaken like sleeping dragons in the fireplace. As the warmth began to seep into the room, she turned from the flames, to see Morgana sat up against the decorated headboard, her dark hair hung in untidy ringlets around her face, eyes wide, and Morgause felt a sudden rush of something within her, causing her heart to pound. At this, she felt herself say, 'I will leave you now. You must sleep; it is not even yet dawn.'

The feeling of her hands around Morgause's ice cold cheeks, her limp form as Morgana held her tightly, sobbing uncontrollably. 'No, Morgause. Don't go. Please, don't go.' The Priestess turned just as Morgana felt another tear slip onto her bedcovers. 'Don't leave me, sister.'

And Morgause was sat back on the bed, clutching her sister's shaking hands, lips pressed against her forehead. 'I will not leave you, Morgana. I will never leave you.'

'Not now?'

'I will sleep with you, so I can be as close to you as you need to sleep well, and I need to be to ensure your safety. The Priestesses of the Isle would often share a bed, it is common practice.' She smiled, yet of course she could not tell her sister exactly why the women would sleep together in a community from which men were prohibited. Still, Morgana returned her smile and let the blonde slip silently beside her under the heavy bedcovers. And, as she turned to her side, she let her sister slide an arm around her waist, and nestle herself against Morgana's back. Slipping into sleep, Morgana could not recall whether the warmth spreading through her body was from the roaring fire or the Priestess holding her so tightly.


	12. Chapter 12

_**This chapter will contain Morgana/Morgause. Despite this being technically incestuous, I believe this would not have been frowned upon in the Old Religion, and thus would have been more open. **_

_**I hope you enjoy.**_

**Chapter 12**

In some bizarre fashion, the new nightly arrangement became routine. She felt herself stiffen less each time Morgause's arm slipped around her as they lay together, or hold her waist during their continued sparring practise. Sometimes, she even missed the pressure there, when her sister would rise early in the morning, or decide Morgana's stance had improved to almost perfection. She would find herself, sometimes, stood staring as the blonde Priestess would practise her magic in the courtyard, or even as she sat reading. She told herself she was merely studying her sister, the way her blonde curls cascaded down her back, the way the crimson network of her sleeves clung to her skin like spiders' webs, the way her lips parted as she muttered dark incantations, but it was more than that. For something awoke within her. Some feeling that both repulsed and enchanted her. A feeling that she hated, yet felt she'd waited all of her life to feel, and now could not live without it. Her heart would pound, she would catch herself smiling for nothing, yet her palms would sweat and her stomach would heave. Like nothing she had ever felt before. And it all revolved about this woman.

'When can I begin to practise magic, Morgause? Truly, not simply reading it. I wish to learn, so that, one day, I might be as great as you are.'

Morgause laughed, a light sound, a laugh one might expect from someone who did not spend her mornings in sword training, and thought nothing of sacrifice for her cause. But, a sound that Morgana did not think she heard enough from her sister's lips. 'I am nothing that you shall not one day surpass, my Sister. You have a great Destiny; I am here merely to help you succeed at keeping it.'

'You're more than that, Morgause. You are too great to be simply that.' Morgana smiled, leaning back slightly as the pair sat just outside the castle walls, taking in the last of the Autumn sun on a grassy slope. Just behind her, Morgause was sat against the trunk of an oak, her crimson skirts spread out, a stark contrast to the emerald beneath her. Across her lap, her glittering sword was laid, one hand clutching the handle, the other elegantly polishing the blade, until Morgana could swear it was cleaner than her looking glass. Yet, she was focused purely on Morgana.

'My own Destiny matters little to me, Morgana. All I care about is protecting you, and yours,' she said, placing her sword beside her as she did. Then she smiled, opening her arms as if to a child. 'Come here.'

From under thick eyelashes, Morgana's eyes looked across at her disdainfully. 'I am not your child, Sister.'

'But, you are one of my own, Morgana. And I mean to protect you as such,' the blonde explained, her tone winning the brunette over and she moved up to her sister's side, lying back so her head rested on Morgause's scarlet lap and her long hair spread out behind her like a dark halo. Instantly, the Priestess began stroking the ebony locks, causing Morgana to close her eyes and sigh contentedly. 'Besides, Sister, we are all we have left in this World. I think I have every right to protect you as well as I possibly can.'

Her hand was now running slowly down Morgana's cheek, caressing her lightly, unconsciously sending a shiver down Morgana's spine. 'My Destiny must be important if you do not care about your own, Sister.'

'But, of course.' Morgause frowned lightly. 'You are to be Queen of Camelot. We will overthrow Uther, cast down his weak son, and you will take your place as both High Priestess and Ruler of the greatest land in the Five Kingdoms. And you will reintroduce magic to the Kingdom, you will save the persecuted and all shall have freedom. Everything will be like how it was in the time of the Old Religion. And you will be loved, Morgana, you will be so loved.'

'I have never been loved. Not truly. My father tried, but he saw too much of Vivian in me. And I have only ever been the Ward of Camelot, a guest, never truly welcome,' Morgana said, bitterly, her eyes flicking open to stare straight ahead, her lips in a thin, straight line. 'My maidservant, Gwen, seemed to commandeer hearts like ships, yet I could only ever play the part. And I don't think any amount of magic will ever change that, Morgause.'

'You underestimate yourself, my Sister.' Morgause smiled, her hand still resting on Morgana's pale cheek. 'You are more important than you will ever realise. Your maidservant is nothing, but you are destined to be the saviour of all those of the Old Religion. You will symbolise all their hopes, and dreams. Camelot as you know it will fall; you need worry no more about any of those who did not welcome you. So long as you remember your Destiny, you will know that you will always be needed and loved.'

The words left Morgana speechless. Never had she imagined this Priestess would be so passionate about her Destiny, the Ward of Camelot, always second to Uther's precious Crown Prince. But, she cared, she cared more than anyone had ever cared about Morgana, and she could think of nothing to say. So, instead, she felt herself nuzzling slightly into the hand resting on her cheek, letting her eyes slip shut as she brushed against the soft skin of her sister's palm. Despite the fierce sword training, they were miraculously smooth. Or maybe that was her imagination. For, right then, her sister had no flaws.

'Besides, my Sister, it is only you who commandeers my heart,' Morgause whispered, dangerously delicate. And Morgana could feel her heart against its bony cage, threatening to rip through her chest, as she sat up slowly. Within her, she could feel something stirring, something almost primitive, as she looked on the doe eyed blonde, whose eyes were filled with a deep, dark mystery. And Morgana could feel her hand reaching out, fingering one of the Priestess's long curls, spun gold in the low, Autumn sun, before running a hand lightly down her slim face. And then, they were both leaning in, lips close enough to feel each other's shallow breaths against their faces, chestnut meeting peridot gaze, golden curls meeting raven tresses. And then, Morgana was running down the slope, towards the castle, and the safety of her chambers, leaving Morgause sat alone, heart sinking and a diamond tear slipping slowly down her cheek, where Morgana's hand had been only moments before.

* * *

><p>Unsurprisingly, she found the wooden door to Morgana's chambers locked as she attempted to enter that night. And she could feel her own castle turning against her as she stood there, the wood an enemy against her palms as she pushed heavily, putting almost her whole body weight behind her efforts. Then, reluctantly, as if her hands were made of iron, impossible to lift, she knocked twice against her own door, barred against her. After a few seconds, she heard the heavy bolt moving, and the door opened slightly, just enough for her to see a cold, peridot eye, shining in the evening darkness of the room.<p>

'My Sister, I do not understand. What is this for?'

'Do not call me that, Morgause. You are no more my sister than you are my friend. You are my captor, you took me from Camelot.'

'Morgana, I do not understand your sudden change of heart.' She had managed to snake a hand around the crack in the door, pushing it open so she could enter, forcing Morgana to step back, turning so she was now facing the window, if only not to look upon the blonde Priestess.

'I wish to return to Camelot, in the morning.' Her tone remained cold, as icy as when she had first realised their true bond. Yet, somehow, colder. For now, Morgana was so much more important to her, with every word spoke against her from Morgana's lips as painful as a sword slice to the skin.

'You will return to Camelot, the Kingdom you were plotting happily to destroy only hours ago. You would choose to live under fear once more, under Uther. But why?'

'My reasons are of no concern to you.' Morgana finally turned back as she spoke, her face emotionless as she looked upon the woman before her, a look that Morgause had only ever seen in her face before when she spoke of Uther. 'You cannot refuse me, Morgause; I am the Ward of Camelot.'

'Not here, you aren't.' Every fibre of her being wanted her to run towards her sister, take her ghostly pale hands in her own, once more. For this must not be Morgana talking, they were her lips moving, but not her words. All she needed was to hold her once more, protect her as she said she would. But, that would be weak. And weakness would get her killed. When she finally spoke again, her voice was icier than the coldest Winter. 'Tomorrow, you shall return to Camelot, live under King Uther, and let your Destiny collapse. It is no longer a concern of mine.'

She turned, the soft material of her gown flying out like some sort of tail. Some monster's tail, from how heavy her heart felt as she was leaving her sister's chambers. From behind, she heard Morgana speak, quietly, her voice thawed with emotion. 'You will not sleep here, tonight.'

The blonde turned slightly, unable to tell if her sister was ordering, or questioning her. Though, that hardly mattered to her, not now. 'No, I will not sleep tonight, anyway.'

* * *

><p>The scent of dust from the musty, yellow pages of the book filled her nostrils as she sat, hunched over the ancient text before her. A single unlit candle sat in front of her, the light from the room came only from the full moon, low in the sky through the bare window. She'd changed from her gown to her breeches the moment she'd left her sister, as if trying to shake all evidence of the morning, and the actions that had lost her Morgana.<p>

She frowned, a sudden boiling of anger in her stomach, and pushed the book away from her, causing it to collide with the candle and both fell from the table with a clatter. At the sudden noise, she felt all emotion seep out of her, as if shocked she had caused it all, and her head sunk to rest on her arms on the wooden table. She did not need this, any of this. The books that surrounded her on all sides in her dark library, the empty night outside the window, with its lonely moon reminding her all too much of herself, the sister that lay asleep above her in the castle somewhere, preparing to leave her…

No, she was a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess; she did not need this self-pity. She had been brought up amongst the strongest women in the Kingdom, who never let anything stand between them and their duty, not even the threat of execution. That was the legacy she now carried. Morgause smiled, a slight wicked curl of the lips, she could take Camelot easily enough. The Knights of Medhir had almost conquered it for her, until her own weakness had prevented a final victory. That would not happen again. With a more formidable army, she could take Camelot; live Morgana's Destiny for her, if she would not do it herself. A new rush of adrenaline pounding through her veins, she stood, scanning the bookshelves for what she desired. A long finger running over the leather spines lightly, until she eventually pulled out a thick text, coated in dust. But that did not concern her. The Priestess laid it on the table heavily, flicking through the age damaged pages quickly until she found what she wanted. The Cup of Life. All she'd need was a larger army, and then she could overthrow Uther easily enough. After all, he'd taken the crown using only brute strength. What was stopping her doing the same? She could return to Cenred, not as his physician, but as his equal. He had an army, she'd have the power to take Uther's Kingdom, both would be victors. She felt her lips curl into a villainous smirk; both would be victors until she forced him to repay his debt to her, anyway. Blood for blood.

But, she felt her mind flick back to the raven haired woman sleeping above her. Even with the adrenaline that had been pounding her body only seconds before, she still felt her heart sink slightly. Morgana had showed such promise, such passion. The way she was beginning to master the sword like a brutal dance, a dance of life and death, rather than a child's game. They way her peridot eyes would light up when she'd be reading, a way of letting Morgause know she was learning so much she'd never known before. The way her cheeks would be warm, despite their porcelain appearance, against Morgause's palms. She had been so certain of her, so certain she felt about her with the same fire Morgause felt towards her.

One last look in on her. Just one last view of her in the castle, as she slept just as she had the night Morgause had left their mother's bracelet for her. As peaceful as the night she had chosen to hand her allegiance to Morgause, in the woods with the moon hanging over them not unlike how it did now. That could not hurt, surely?

Bare feet against cold stone as she climbed the twisting tower to reach Morgana's chambers. All candles were out, casting her into darkness as she stepped closer and closer to this final farewell. She'd see her in the morning, yes, and for the next two days as she returned her to Uther's icy grip, but that would not be the girl she knew. That wouldn't be her sister. It was now, as she lay, all her guards down, open, that Morgause could truly claim her.

Hands pushing on wood, the door opening slowly and a sigh of relief that she had left the door unlocked after Morgause had left earlier. Yet, a candle was still flickering beside the girl's bed. Morgana's empty bed. Morgause padded softly into the room, chestnut orbs wide at the perfectly made bed, and the absence of her sister. Might she have already left? She should never have left her alone, not in the state she was in. She needed caring for, not clumsy rage and vengeful plotting. Morgana needed her help, not her humanity. How was she to achieve her Destiny if she felt betrayed by the one chosen to help her?

A shadow moved by the window. A shadow that sat on the windowsill like a lost child. Large peridot eyes met hers as she turned slightly, set in a pale face lit by an ethereal glow from the moonlight outside the bare window. Even in the limited light, Morgause could see the glisten of tears on her cheeks, the way her arms were wrapped around her legs, pulling them close for comfort. On seeing her, Morgana felt a choking in her throat, her eyes welling up once more.

'I never meant anything I said, Morgause. I'm sorry.' She knew she should not be this weak, but words tumbled out in the desperation of a beggar, and she could control herself no longer. 'I don't know what happened to me, what is happening to me. I haven't felt this, not before. Something in me has just changed, I can't explain it. It's been since I left Camelot, since I was poisoned. What if the poison has changed me? What if I can never get better? Get back to how I was?'

'My Sister,' Morgause said as she took a cautious step forward, feeling her heart beating fast enough to almost rip out of her ribcage, with endless compassion for the girl sat before her. 'Hemlock does not have such effects. It is a poison. It cannot change you.'

'But, it could be, couldn't it? You can't be certain.'

'Morgana, there is nothing wrong with you.' The blonde was knelt by her side, looking up at her with wide eyes, a hand against her cheek, holding her carefully. 'You are tired, that is all.'

'No, Sister, you don't understand.' Morgana shook her head, attempting to move back against the window, away from the warm fingers against her icy cheeks, and the golden curls more white in the moon's glow. 'It was Merlin, and the poison, that has made me feel this. I cannot return to Camelot, I would be killed for this. It is not just magic anymore, Morgause. The healing bracelet cannot help me. I'm scared, Morgause, I'm so scared. And it was Merlin, all Merlin's fault.' Morgause could feel her heart dropping as she felt the tears wet against her fingers, still against her sister's cheek. Or maybe it was the way this boy's name seemed to slide off her sister's tongue, the same way a river would glide over her skin as she stepped in a river to bathe.

'Morgana…'

'My stomach is tied in the hangman's noose. I can feel myself choking sometimes, fighting for breath, my heart beating like a war drum. Something is wrong with me, isn't it? I need to hear it, Morgause. I don't know what to do.' Morgana was almost shaking, from the cold glass against her back, from the flood of emotion that seemed to be overwhelming her that, like a measly dam, she could never hope to control. Yet, she had to look up from her lap, to meet the chestnut orbs boring into her. 'I'm scared, Morgause. For all of this is only when I see you.'

And then the blonde was kneeling up, until her head was equal to the raven haired girl before her. Eyes closed as she leant in, until their lips met and were together. She felt the soft touch of Morgana's lips against hers; her hand still against her sister's cheek, the touch just to remind her she was still there, that all of this was still real.

Sudden absence, emptiness, as she felt lips pull away from her own, and found Morgana's furious gaze upon her, her peridot eyes glittering like hard stone. 'You had no right.'

'But, tell me that is not what you wanted, Morgana.'

When their lips met again, it was Morgana's hand deep in the Priestess' golden mane, pulling her head closer as she pushed her lips harder against Morgause's. It was not like before. Their first kiss was retrained compared to the dance they seemed to be performing this time. Everything felt more passionate, dropping all tension as Morgause pulled Morgana to her feet, enveloping her in slender arms, though strong enough to remind Morgana of the security they provided. And she could not say how long they were there, though it felt like the whole night had passed, the moonlight still caught them in its embrace as they pulled apart.

She could feel herself panting slightly, a feeling bubbling within her, filling her with something unknown to her. But, it was not unknown to her, not now. Not as she looked on the golden warrior before her. 'I know nothing, Morgause.'

'I know very little,' Morgause managed to say, before she found herself once more at Morgana's lips, one hand entangled in her long, raven curls, the other at her lower back, almost in support as she pushed further into the Priestess' body, until she could feel her sister's breasts against her own. Then, her hand was snaking down Morgana's back, finding the corset ribbon used to tie the dress, and she was pulling at the bow, undoing it, loosening it, until she had to step back from Morgause to shrug the material off so she stood only in her thin under-gown. Quicker than Morgause thought was possible, pale fingers were clutching at her shirt, pulling it over her head, causing her golden curls to tumble down her bare back. Morgana stepped back once more, taking in a full look at Morgause, bare under her shirt. She had never seen another woman's body before, Gwen had seen her enough times as she helped her dress and bathe, but the sight was new to her, and she had not expected to be so captivated. The soft curve of her breasts, dark nipples that she could not resist running a finger over, feeling them harden under her touch. She was still lightly circling them when Morgause put her hand over the brunette's, pushing it harder over her breast. She was firm, surprisingly so, yet softer than Morgana expected from her sister's muscular form. Her sister. She felt her hand drop, as if made of lead, and she stepped back, head spinning like the swirling eye of a storm.

'Morgause, how can this be right? We share a mother...'

'The Old Religion ties us together closer than blood, Morgana.' Morgause stepped closer, her hands closing around the dark haired girl's shaking palms. 'The High Priestesses knew that. The Old Religion will always join us.'

'And the High Priestesses condoned it?'

A slim hand reached up to caress her cheeks, skin ghost white in the light of the full moon. 'My Sister, the High Priestesses knew that to fight such feelings would be worth nothing. For such feelings are as old as the magic that binds the World around us, and runs within the blood that we share.'

And then pale arms were wrapped around her once more, fingers trailing down her back, as their lips met. Morgana could hear her own heart beating in her ears as she felt her hands lower, moving like serpents over the blonde's hips, before pulling on the cords of her breeches until they slipped down, past the hair between the top of her thighs that was so much darker than her golden curls, to expose strong, lean legs. Morgause's lips ran across her shoulders, brushing aside the straps of her under-dress with carefully delicate caress until it fell from her slender frame to a shimmering pool by her feet, giving the impression she had risen from water, like a mythical water nymph or Lady of the Lake. She was pale, so much paler than Morgause's own body, her skin so white it reminded her of the snow she used to watch fall from the Isle of the Blessed when she was a child. She used to wonder at it then, but now she could do nothing but cradle her sister's face as they both stood there, opposite each other's naked forms. And Morgana knew she should feel defenceless, exposed, but she could feel nothing but strength as she moved with the blonde Priestess, skin against skin, lips against lips, limbs entangled, crumpling bedsheets beneath them.

Their first encounter was nothing like how it had been with Cenred. Nothing like their drunken, clumsy encounter, at each other with an animalistic passion, as violent as hatred, which had left Morgause with nothing more than a pounding head and a dull pain the following day. No. With Morgana it was all entwined fingers and deep, delicious kisses. Fingertips searching and exploring each other's bodies, along every curve, every cavern, as though venturing maiden lands. And their hands would clutch at each other's sweating figures, in a desperate need for closeness that took them both by surprise. Lying there, she had no vengeance, no Destiny, just the peace that overwhelmed her every time the brunette's lips met her skin.

**Theladyofice- Wow, thank you so much. I've tried to write her more human, rather than just being focused solely on Camelot and revenge and stuff. **

**Alice J- Thank you, it's really nice to hear I've warmed you to her. I loved her on the show, but wanted to give her a bit more story :)**

**Dragons of Egypt- Wow, the best Merlin story? I'm actually so shocked at that. I just really wanted to give her more story, and more character than she was sometimes given on the show. And I loved her bond with Morgana, I hope I painted them both in the best light.**


	13. Chapter 13

_**I am so sorry for the delay in this chapter. Over a month is just unacceptable! Unfortunately, this horrid thing called reality kept interfering with my writing.**_

_**A few notes about this chapter. I have included the Disir from Series 5 of Merlin, but for those who have not seen this episode yet, I have not included any Series 5 spoilers at all, so you can read it still. Also, I have included mention of the Crone, the Mother and the Maiden. These are not taken from any other work, they are in fact the three deities of the Triple Goddess. That is all. **__**Enjoy! :)**_

**Chapter 13**

The remnants of nature's midnight war lay outside. The moon hung low in the dawning sky, fighting to continue its dominant reign, pale as the skin of the woman's skin beneath her, Morgause felt herself realise, in the slow mind process of an early awakening. Meanwhile, just over the tops of the trees, ghostly green in the slight fog that hung over the World, there were just a few rays of golden light breaking through. Golden like the curls that had spread across her sister's bare breasts as Morgause rested her head there gently. Although she couldn't see them, she knew there would be a few scarlet buds just fighting through the swirling white of the morning, like pools of blood on a battlefield. Or the ruby droplets of wine that had spilled onto the girl's gown the night before, as she had gotten so passionate in her declarations of war against her old home, her old friends, her old family. And then she had removed her gown, shedding it as a caterpillar sheds its cocoon to reveal the new being beneath. And then Morgause was back to seeing her sister's milky skin, rivalling the glow of the lunar orb itself.

Gently, to not wake the sleeping girl upon whose chest she was rested, she raised herself to rest upon her elbows instead, allowing her to look down on the Lady Morgana. Her raven hair seemed to spill everywhere in her slumber, tumbling down her neck whilst also spreading out like a growing river of ink on the bed. One slender arm lay stretched over her head, the other by her side, where it had been rested on the small of Morgause's back. She was pleased to note the glittering bracelet that sat on her wrist, protecting Morgana from all demons that could haunt her. All the ones that Morgause could not protect her from, anyway.

She could understand the ways of the High Priestesses more now she knew this. Now she slept with her fingers entwined with Morgana's. Waking in the early hours, just to lie and listen to her breathing as she dreamt. Now she had felt the real, fiery passion that would consume them both until they lay breathless, yet also now she had rid herself of the lonely need to escape, to ride the country like some fearless martyr. Now, she understood there was more than one way to give yourself to your cause. And she had found the true way, the way that gave her heart, body and soul. Yet, there was still something missing.

* * *

><p>Morgana awoke to a cold breeze against her naked form, causing her to shiver despite the bedcovers that had been pulled over her. It was curious, for usually she would have Morgause's warmth beside her…<p>

She sat up straight on the realisation she was alone, her mind instantly flashing through the scenarios they had talked through: attack, discovery, even raiders were not an impossible option, despite the enchantments surrounding the castle. But, she felt her pounding heart slow as her eyes found her sister's figure stood by the open window, staring out over the land beneath them. Her skin was still bare, yet she was not shivering like Morgana was in the bed. Instead, she was hardly moving, just the slight rise and fall of her chest with her careful breaths.

'Morgause…'

'Can you not feel it, Morgana? Even smell it in the very air?' The blonde did not turn around; she continued to stare out of the open window, yet Morgana could imagine the smile on her face as she spoke. Even if she couldn't decide quite why her sister was so excited.

'I don't understand.'

'The Old Religion, my Sister, can you not smell it in the air? Feel it on every inch of your skin? Taste it?' She turned now, almost running to Morgana's side, taking both of her hands as she sat next to her on the edge of the bed. 'It lives in the very essence of the Earth, brought in by the wind and the rain. This is why Uther will never truly destroy us; destroy all sorcerers, for we share our blood with the Earth itself.' She paused, waiting for Morgana's response, yet her lips remained together, a blind gloss in her eyes. 'It tastes of my childhood, of the Isle of the Blessed, where the air was perfumed with the scent of magic. It is the aroma of the High Priestesses, of the sorcery that runs in our beings.'

The brunette continued to sit in silence, yet her lips curled into a smile as her eyes slipped shut, feeling the air in her body in a way she had not done before. 'I can taste it, Morgause.'

'It is how Camelot will taste again once we have taken it. Once we have fulfilled your Destiny, my Sister. Once we have ridded it of the pestilence that is the Pendragon dynasty, and recreated the Kingdom under the Old Religion, just as it ought to be.' She took one of Morgana's dark curls, wrapping it slowly around her fingers. 'Today is the day, Morgana. Today must be the day.'

At that, Morgana's eyes seemed to almost snap open, her peridot orbs wide in what could have been fear. Morgause was hoping otherwise until her sister's lips began to move. 'I cannot do it, Morgause. I am not strong enough. I'm not ready.'

'You must have faith, my Sister. This is your Destiny…'

'It cannot be, I don't understand.' She'd pulled back, and the lock of hair felt torn away from Morgause's grasp. With her hand still outstretched, and chestnut eyes dark, she took the Ward back to their first meeting, when the healing bracelet was all that they had shared. Not that she wanted to return to that, Morgana could not truly imagine life back in Camelot again, surrounded by so may yet so alone in herself. But, she was not ready for what Morgause asked of her. Not yet. 'When in Camelot, I witnessed the burnings of hundreds, or thousands of those with magic, Morgause. I just sat in my chambers, or even stood beside Uther when I was younger, and watched as he put those people to the flames. Innocent people were killed and I did nothing, Morgause. I watched them. I could smell their skin charring and I could hear them screaming, and still I did nothing. How can I possible be destined to help all those with magic and return the Old Religion to Camelot, if I could not even help those few people?'

'My Sister, you cannot blame yourself for that, for any of that.' The blonde pulled the other woman towards her, holding her close against her, only the bedcovers separating both their naked forms meeting. 'All that was Uther's doing, Morgana, not yours. What could you have done, without putting yourself in danger? None of that has any impact on your destined path, you are still to reignite the Old Religion in Camelot, to provide safety to those like us, so no-one else has to live in fear as you did. It is you, and only you, who can do this. You mustn't underestimate your importance in this.'

'I am not yet strong enough. You are always strong; there is nothing you cannot do…'

'It is you that gives me strength, Sister. And I hope I can do the same for you, for today and all that will follow. For after today, there is no going back. You will be a true High Priestess of the Triple Goddess, and under the full protection of both the Blood Guard and the Old Religion. You are ready, I know it.'

Morgana felt her sister press her lips to her cheek, the touch enough for her to forget the cold from outside, and the cold fear gripping her heart for a few seconds. Long enough for her to whisper, 'I'm ready, Morgause.'

* * *

><p>The day had not cleared, and a light drizzle fell, causing the emerald leaves on the trees to glisten with light moisture. Morgana could feel the damp beginning to seep through the shimmering cloak that Morgause had given her for warmth, silver as the chainmail her sister had donned for the journey. She walked ahead, her glittering blade in hand, yet the blade touched not one plant, not even the thorns that threatened to rip into her dark breeches or shred Morgana's gown. For even Morgana could sense this was a sacred place, a place for worship, not warfare, for blessings, not bloodshed. The whole forest seemed so much more alive, as though she could feel the very trees growing around her. She felt that if she put her hand to the ground, she would feel it throbbing with life. It was strange, like having consumed one cup too many of the sweetest wine, but rather than dulling her senses, it had sharpened them beyond belief.<p>

Then the trees were thinning, and Morgause stopped in a small clearing. Directly ahead of her, a gaping cave entrance lay, darker than Morgana had ever seen, she thought. But not cold, as usual caves tended to be, but as though she needed to enter, not through curiosity, but through a deep instinct within her heart.

'We are here, Morgana,' Morgause spoke, as she placed her blade upon a large stone just outside the cave's entrance. Following this, she began to remove her chainmail, until she stood only in her thin undershirt and breeches. At the sudden confusion upon her sister's pale face, she explained, 'This is a sacred place, Morgana. To take a weapon within would be sacrilege, especially following the Great Purge.'

The raven headed girl nodded, before unsheathing a plain dagger from her belt, hidden under the dampened cloak, and laid it beside Morgause's weapons. At the slight amusement upon the blonde's face, she frowned playfully. 'Surely, you did not expect me to come here defenceless?'

'Camelot will never suspect you, my Sister. And you will be more than ready for them all.'

* * *

><p>Her sister was braver than she had ever hoped for. Morgause watched with pride as she entered the cave ahead of her, waking blind in the dark, yet never losing where she was going. That was part of the initiation, though she had not discovered that until after she had become a High Priestess herself. Only those with the burning desire, the burning need, to find the Old Religion, could ever enter and leave the cave. All others would be consumed by the dark, which was why no Knight of Camelot had ever risked destroying this place. Either that or it was unknown to them. The blonde was lost in her own thought, when her sister's sudden frozen form brought her back.<p>

The cave had lightened now, illuminated by candles above them on a raised platform. Yet, before these candles, three figures stood. Three hooded figures, their cloaks long enough to both cover them completely, hiding any detail from the two women, and brush the floor.

'The Lady Morgana,' the first spoke, raising its head to reveal an old, female jaw, wrinkles having formed around the mouth. 'Ward of Uther Pendragon, beloved King of Camelot.'

'More than his Ward.' The second followed the first's example, raising her head to reveal a younger jaw, yet the hood still covered the top half of the face, hiding the eyes from any onlookers. 'But that is for another time, I believe.'

'And her sister, Morgause, daughter of Lady Vivian Gorlois, once consort of King Cenred, now her sister's companion.' The last to speak, the figure stood in the middle, was the youngest, barely older than the women to whom she spoke, going from the lilting tones of her voice. 'The last High Priestess of the Triple Goddess. Though that will all change today.'

Morgana stood silent, yet she held her head defiantly, staring directly at the three women ahead of her. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath and felt herself speak, 'The Maiden, the Mother and the Crone, the three deities of the Triple Goddess.'

'She is well taught, Morgause.' The first directed her attention towards the Priestess now. 'She knows the teachings, and the sorcery itself also, no doubt. We are impressed.'

'We are the Disir, my child.' The second remained focused on Morgana, who stood pale as the moon that had hung in the sky that morning. 'It is we who decide those whose blood is sacred enough to join the realm of the High Priestesses, and become the soldiers of the Triple Goddess.'

'Though, you need not worry, child, we know your Destiny.'

'Who of the Old Religion does not know your Destiny, Lady Morgana?' The eldest figure spoke, her voice creaking like an ancient, oak door. 'All those with sorcery engrained in their being place their hopes within your Destiny.' Her voice was joined by the two other women's, their united speech filling the cavern with sinister harmony. 'To bring down the evil of Uther Pendragon, and cast the Old Religion back into the heart of Albion. That is your Destiny, Lady Morgana.'

Morgause stood back still, her focus darting between the deities and her sister. She did not remember her own initiation into the Triple Goddess, though at the time she had expected the experience to be engraved into her memory forever. Though maybe it was the fire, or maybe it was the death of Taegan, that had caused her memory to close, and to attempt to block all from her of the Isle of the Blessed. She did remember standing tall though, her face blank as she had faced the figures before her. Though, she had never stood as proud as Morgana did before her. She had never expected her sister to fall, for only a coward would see the deities as objects of fear, but she could never have predicted her sister's strength. She was ready, she was more than ready, yet Morgause had been clinging to her, it seemed. Denying Morgana's ability so they need not be separated. But, as the raven headed woman stood before her, her peridot eyes aimed directly at the figures before her, the figures who would cast the die, and ensure Camelot's fate in Morgana's initiation, the blonde Priestess felt a growing realisation of all that was yet to come. Of all that was needed to put their plan into perfect form.

'Morgause, Daughter of Vivian and the last High Priestess, do not think you are forgotten in this.' Morgause looked up, her concentration having slipped in though, to see the cavern empty before her, save for one of the deities, the Crone, the other two having taken Morgana further into the sacred place. The Crone's hood remained up, revealing only her jaw, with her lips curled into a devilish grin, revealing teeth almost pointed beneath her lips. 'We know all, Morgause, all about you. The burning of the Isle of the Blessed, the years you spent idle in Cenred's Kingdom, awaiting the news of your Sister in Camelot. The chanting of the Knights of Medhir, Morgana's rescue at the hand of a golden haired Knight, and indeed you trained her well. For you also have a Destiny, Morgause. A great Destiny that haunts Camelot like a plague. Stalking men's minds like a spectrum.'

'I need to know what it is.'

The Crone smiled once more. 'No, you do not. But soon, soon you shall achieve all you have wished for. I can assure you that.'

* * *

><p>That night she sat in her chambers, the first night she had spent separate to her sister in months. But, her sister still remained weak from her initiation; she muttered the Old Religion under her breath and tossed feverishly under the bedcovers, though her skin was bare. She had been barely conscious after the initiation, just awake enough to be aware of her sister's arms around her, carrying her as she had done all those months ago. Though, then, she had been rescuing her from the persecution that awaited her, now her arms were a true welcome into the World of sorcery and enchantment.<p>

_She was no longer the last High Priestess_. It was a thought that made Morgause's heart want to burst from her chest with joy, like a butterfly from a cocoon in the gentle Spring. They were truly together now, joined together by blood and body, and now by belief also. It was a feeling so strong it felt lie armour enough for her to charge into Camelot that very night, and take the throne from Uther's head herself.

But, no. It was a valiant thought, an idle dream. But, the throne of Camelot needed careful planning and stealth to be truly taken. That, and more brute force than she solely could muster. The blonde sighed, nearly sinking her head into her hands in despair, before she reminded herself she was a High Priestess, and had no time for self-pity. Not now she had Morgana's Destiny resting in her palms. And she knew this day would come again. He owed her a debt. Blood for blood. That thought caused a smirk to creep across her lips as she took her quill in hand. Sinking the end deep into the ink, dark as the onyx eyes she remembered boring into her, she paused momentarily over the parchment, before writing:

_My Dear Cenred…_

**Guest: Thank you. I have tried focus primarily on Morgana and Morgause due to the lack of material about them, mainly in the year they spent together, which I see as significant in Morgana's change of feeling towards Camelot.**

**Sergeik: Morgana and Morgause are my ultimate favourite Merlin pairing so it's really good to hear I've done them justice. I agree with you so much about Morgause in Series 2, I felt she was set up to be this evil character when she did very little to hurt others, especially in the Sins of the Father, when she only did what was asked of her by Arthur. Thank you :)**

**Livingarandomreality: Thank you so much :) Morgause was one of my favourite characters and although I think it might not have fit the series entirely to include her backstory in the TV show, I was disappointed by the lack of fanfics about her. So, I wrote this to try change that. Hope this chapter lives up to expectation, it has taken a while to write.**


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